Crowned at Elim [microform]

CROWNED AT ELIM

CROWNED
AT ELIM

BY
STELLA EUGENIE ASLING

—E A NN anne wean os ee
Nn aseeeeneneeannonmaramenane ee meen

Pa

==
1903
SMITH & WILKINS
207 West Twenty-third Street
New York

R

in memory of the late

Co, Sir Casimir STANISLAUS GZOWSK!I, K.C.M.G
and other

PATRIOTS IN EXILE

Who, though compelled by adverse circumstances
to leave the land of their hirth. vet brought to
the voung land of their adoption the same high
motives and Christian chivalry which swayed their
lives in dark and trving times, and who have left
a clear ideal of what goodness and purity and
nobleness implies, which alone makes life immortal]
—to these this little book js eratetully dedicated
hy the Author.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER I.

IVERSIDE, I shall still call it, though now in
R the calm dignity of its old age the inhabitants
have called it by a name signifying peace.
Though it is now but a sleepy village yet the mem-
ory of its former greatness still lingers about it,
lending an air of romance to the untenanted build-
ings, mossgrown bridges, and dilapidated mills, as
illusive, yet interesting, as the subtle perfume which
greets us on opening a long-closed package of faded
roses. The very people seem to partake of the qual-
ities of the town. After you have sojourned among
them for a little, you have a suspicion that the hand
of time has been turned back from the opening years
of the twentieth century to the early fifties of the
nineteenth. The throbbing, pulsating life of the busy
age seems never to disturb their placid ways. When
they speak it is with a dignified yet courteous re-
serve, which seems to imply that they have a history
worth telling, did they but choose to tell it. But
they come of canny stock, those Riverside people,
and do not take kindly to a stranger. They will

2 CROWNED AT ELIM.

admit, however, that those were prosperous days
when people brought their grain from East and
West, and from up about the lakes, to be ground at
the great stone mill on the river; and will still speak
bitterly of the railway company which took that
trade away, and formed a town a few miles distant.
And if you are remarkably clever at extracting in-
formation, they may tell you that the town owes its
inception to the enterprising capacity of a single
mind: that about 1830 a rich landowner (whom,
for the sake of convenience, we shall call Robert
Murray) when riding about in the dense Canadian
forests, caine upon a picturesque, wildly-rushing
river. The many waterfalls attracted his attenticn,
and being a shrewd business man he immediately
conceived the idea of establishing a town in its
vicinity. Obtaining a grant of land he at once set
to work to erect mills and factories at the waterfalls;
houses for his men were built in due course; then
followed stores for supplies, a blacksmith shop, post-
office,church and school. As trade increased, hotels,
or more properly inns, were required, and thus River-
side became a complete little town. As stone was
lyin about in immense quantities, it was used for
all building purposes. And the people who came,
whether by design or accident it is impossible to say,
came from the land of the heather. This, then, is the
reason that the little town had impressed us with
an air of Scottish simplicity and substantiality on
our arrival.

And now having obtained so much information,
nothing more can we get from Riverside residents,
though we try with many wiles. So we saunter

CROWNED AT ELIM. 3

along the little street, past the well kept hedges,
past the stone walls which enclose smooth green
lawns, on over the bridge where the water rushes
down into the chasm at our feet, and still on, follow-
ing the bending river till we reach the second bridge,
and herein sight of all things which Trema Zamoyski
loved, and which are still haunted by her memory,
we pause reverently, reluctant to lift our unskillful
pen to record the history of those who now for years
have lain silent in the dust. Here is the bridge
Trema crossed many times; there the mill, now
silent forever; and just at our feet the path along
which she tripped that June morning with her new-
found friend. And so we sit and dream till the old
days come back, and the bones of the valley stir and
come together, and stand up clothed with life, ready
to take their place on the little stage where they
played their part so long ago.

One of the first settlers of Riverside was Donald
Bell. In ashort time he had grown to be one of the
principal men of the place. He was a general mer-
chant—dealer in groceries, dry goods, boots and
shoe drugs and hardware. He was also postmas-
ter. As might be imagined, Donald, having monop-
olized so many departments of trade, was kept very
busy. It was noon hour of a warm spring day, and
as there was a lull in business, Donald stretched
himself upon the counter for a littie rest. The hum
of the mill, the traffic of the street, the falling of the
water, all came soothingly to him from a distance;
the bees hummed in the warm sunshine, and Donald
slept. He was rudely awakened from his mid-day

4 CROWNED AT ELIM.

nap, however, by the entrance of Malcolm Mc-
Kinnon.

“}Ioo are ye the day, Donald? Gey weel, I’ve
nae doot, for it’s no wark wud mak ye ill, a lyin’
foriver on yir back.”

“T will be thinking, Malcolm, that it is not thy
bissness if I will be lying down, or if 1 will be stand-
ing up.”

‘*Ma certes, Donald, dinna be vexed. I maun
hae ye seal this letter wi’ a bittie 0’ wax afore ye
stamp it, an’ I'll tak some yellow ochre as weel. Its
hoose cleanin’ time, ye ken, an’ the wifie maun gie
the floor anither coat o’ paint. There’s a family
cam frae the ceety an’ ta’en ‘Vinemount.’ Ye’ll hae
heerd aboot it, nae doot, an’ Elspeth maun hae
everything spic an’ span, so they'll no be finer than
she. Its the wy wi’ the women folk. Afore I wud
fash masel’ aboot a family o’ Roosians!”’

“IT wass hearing Willie Robertson say the lady
wass no Russian at all, but an English woman.”

‘I’m thankfu’ tae ken it,’’ said Malcolm. ‘Its
an awtu’ thing tae hae a family o’ heathenish Roos-
ians come in tae oor quiet Scotch settlement. But
her guid man is a Roosian, an’ nae doot aboot it,
for I heerd Lawyer MacAlpin, as drew up the deed,
say that o’ a’ the names ever written hereaboots,
the Roosians was the worst. Cashmere Yamooshka,
if I mind it richt. Did ye ever hear o’ the like?
Aweel, we maun juist bide a wee; maybe they’ll no
dae us much harum.”’

Vinemount had a history of its own. The house
was built by Robert Murray, and stood on an

CROWNED AT ELIM. 5

eminence overlooking the river and countryside. It
was of colonial architecture, and its wide verandas
supported by pure white columns, gave a stately air
to the house. Even the most experienced traveler,
sated with the beauties of many lands, would find
the view from the portico of Vinemount pleasing.
There was the lawn with its smooth grass, over
which the stately elms and maples cast long
shadows in the morning hours; the drive, curving
around aclump of trees, and then descending grad-
ually to the road between two rows of tall firs.
Across the road the land sloped gently to the river—
a rushing, tumbling stream, which forced its way
between two walls of limestone rock. Beyond the
river the fields were bounded by a wooded hill, which
as yet had never echoed with the woodman’s axe.
Half a mile to the left, the spire of the kirk and the
chimneys of factories told where Riverside nestled
out of sight below the hill.

Robert Murray lived but a short time to enjoy
his new abode. He lived to see the house completed;
to see the grounds laid out as he desired; to see his
pet schemes a success in the village, then he died.
He left no heir save an adopted son. It was rumored
that Vinemount had been left to a younger brother
who had lived in a very modest way near Toronto,
but who had finally sought a home in Minnesota.
If the rumor were true, the younger brother never
appeared to claim his inheritance. The place re-
mained in the possession of the adopted son and
finally passed into the hands of one, Blackburn
Montgomery, a gentleman from Ireland; who, evi-
dently wearied of the world and its ways, came to

6 CROWNED AT ELI.

seek quiet and rest in sequestered Riverside. He
remained for several years and then departed as
quietly as he had come, and Vinemount was again
sold. Repairs were going on about the house for
two months, then one day towards the last of June
the new owners came from Toronto.

He
as
in
or
ne

CROWNED AT ELIM. 7

CHAPTER II.

T WAS evening when the strangers arrived in
| Riverside, and the many lights of the little town
gleaming at far intervals, seemed to increase its
size. The hill beyond the village rose a misty
phantom in the gloaming. The river followed its
course between two walls of precipitous limestone,
and then rushed over a rocky ledge and down a
narrow gorge with a thunderous boom that could
be heard beyond the outskirts of the village.

Casimir Zamoyski did not respond to the eulo-
gistic remarks of his wife and daughter. He feared
that the morning sunshine would dispel many illu-
sions; that with the morning light the mountain
would appear a mere hill, the town would diminish
to one-fourth its seeming size; while the rushing
torrent would prove a very modest little waterfall
indeed.

Yet, when morning came, and Casimir Zamoyski
stood on the terrace in the sunshine, he was fain to
confess that there was a charm in the rural land-
scape which had not been discernible in the darkness
of the previous night. As for Vinemount, he thought
it an ideal home—such a place as he had dreamed of
when harrassed and perplexed by the troubles of life.
Yet it was a very different place from Stroganoff

8 CROWNED AT EL IM.

Palace, the home he had once known. Ah, well,
Stroganoff Palace was only a dream belonging to
the past. When he left it years ago, ‘Integra rodu
dignitas”’* had been his only possession, and though
he still had little to show for the efforts of a lifetime,
yet when life should end he hoped to hand that
sacred heritage down as he had received it, integram.

The gentleman's meditations were broken short-
ly by something tumbling on his shoulder—a_ rose
plucked from the window casement. He looked up
and encountered the smiling face of his wife.

“What a face, Casimir! And on the very first
morning after our arrival in your Eden, too, Verily
the whims of men are Strange. Here have I been
entertained for the past six weeks With your descrip-
tions of this charming place, and now I do believe
that you are homesick.”

“No, lam not homesick, Miriam, | Was just
indulging in reminiscences ; though, truly, the first
few days in a strange place always are lonely,
Wouldn’t you like to go for a walk and see some-
thing of the Surroundings of your new home?”

‘Cannot, really. Iam going to jot down a few
ideas in my journal before everything becomes hope-
lessly commonplace. Iam a dreadful procrastinator
and if Ido not write them at once I fear I shall not
write them at all. Where is Trema? She will be
pleased to accompany you,”

‘T saw her going towards the meadow. She
has evidently set out by herself on an exploration.”

“Well, I should like to go after luncheon, Casi-
mur; but I can’t go now.”

Madame Zamoyski stepped back from the rose-

* The unspotted dignity of ancestry,

well,
ng to
rodu
lough
‘time,
that
ram,
hhort-
rose
-d up

first
‘erily
been
Crip-
lieve

just
first
nely,
yme-

few
Ope-
itor
not
l be

She
sy

mn.
asi-

CROWNED AT ELIM. 9

embowered window and picked up her journal. It
was a large volume, bound in Russia leather, and
contained the principal events of her life since her
seventeenth year. The pages had a remarkably fresh
appearance considering that they were nineteen
years old. Perhaps it was because that she, too,
felt lonely in her new surroundings that morning,
that her attention was attracted by those incidents
of long ago. At any rate, before she realized what
she was about, she had drawn an easy chair near
the window, and was deeply engrossed in her own
life story.

LONDON, March 15th 1836.

Some two months since, father engaged a new
music teacher for me—one, Casimir Zamoyski. |
have found him something of a mystery. His name
and accent are foreign; his manner speaks of courts
and palaces, yet his dress is plain, almost shabby.
He talks very little; of himself he talks not at all,
It is only through music that his feelings seem to
find expression. Sometimes as | play, his face will
light up tili its glowing beauty is almost dazzling.
Or, if the mood takes him, he will seat himself at the
piano when the lesson hour is over, and play till the
very air seems trembling with the tread of war
steeds; then at his touch the triumphant strains
will give place to cries of agony, and the tremulous
notes breathe out sobs of anguish. Yesterday I was
coming along street when I met him, and as it
was the hour for my lesson he accompanied me
home. As we walked quickly along he looked at the
fruit stands piled high with fresh and tempting fruit;

10 CROWNED AT ELIM

a the vegetables, the crisp lettuce, and ripe toma-
toes; at the plentiful supply of meat in the butcher
shops, and he said sadly: ‘The plenty here; the
misery over there—the desolation. and the famine,
and the wretchedness; the pinched faces, and the
new made graves.”’

‘Do you mean the East End?” I asked, think-
ing he meant one of the poorer sections of our great
city. But he answered quickly:

“No, no; I did not mean this city, or this
country,’’ and then he changed the subject, but from
the pathos with which he spoke, I know he meant
his native land, wherever it may be.

Lonpon, June 19th, 1837.

Casimir Zamoyski has taught me for overa year,
and he gave me my last lesson to-day. I was over-
whelmed when I found that I should not see him
again. When he said ‘*Good-bye,” and I did not
answer, he came over to the piano, and was deeply
pained when he found my face covered with tears,

“Oh, Miriam!” he exclaimed, ‘‘do you care as
much as that? Is it possible you care for a nameless
nobody—an adventurer your father will say. Tell
me, is it so?”

In a voice almost inaudible I whispered, “ Yes,
Casimir, it is so.”

‘And are you willing to share my lot whatever
it may bring, wealth or poverty; happiness or
sorrow ?”

“Yes, Casimir.”’

“Then may God forgive me and help me!” he
exclaimed, fervently.

oma-

tcher

the
nine,
1 the

hink-

yreat

this
from
leant

~

x3
year,
IVeT-
him
| not
-eply
=e
re as
eless

Tell
Yes,

ever

CROWNED AT ELIM 11

While the twilight deepened we talked and
planned, Casimir and I As my father was a very
wealthy man and very proud, it was doubtful if he
would give his consent to my marrying an unknown
foreigner; so we decided that should he oppose us,
we would take matters into our own hands and
marry without his consent. When we heard him
come in at last, Casimir took my hand, Saying in a
voice full of emotion:

‘Pray for me that I may succeed, and if! do
not, consider well before you decide to take this step.
Miriam, I love you better than my own life, but I
would rather live without you than cause your life
to be unhappy. And my affairs are so uncertain
that I really do not know what is before me. HI
thought you would live to regret this step, I would
go away, as I said before, and not see you again.”

‘Oh, Casimir!” I said, “do not talk of never
meeting again. I am willing to go anywhere, suffer
anything, so long as I am with you.”

“Then I accept your love as a God-given trust,
and my first aim in life shall be to care for you and
make you happy.”

He left me then, and crossed the hall to the
library. I heard him goin and close the door and,
much agitated, I stood by the window and tried to
become interested in what was going on in the
square. It was a futile attempt. My thoughts
could not be enticed from that interview in the
library, and its uncertain issue. From ordinary
conversational tones the voices grew louder and
louder, until, unable to restrain my curiosity any
longer I drew aside the heavy portierre and looked

i2 CROWNED AT ELIM

across the hall. My lover was standing by the door,
which he had partially opened. His sensitive face
Was quivering with hurt pride, and his eves were
flashing with resentment at the insults h aped upon
him. My father, usuaily so dignified, was now livid
With passion at the audacity of a poor music teacher
asking for his daughter's hand. Thus they con-
fronted each other for a moment in angry silence,
then Casimir turned and left the house. The door
was scarcely closed when I was called to the library.
Tentered with a beating heart. My father was still
angry, but the sight of his daughter mollified him
somewhat. Evidently he could not believe that his
Miriam would give ‘‘an adventurer’’ cause for such
presumption,

“My daughter,’ he said, ‘you are beginning
young to give me trouble in regard to suitors. A
little incident has just occurred which reminds me
that my Miriam is no longer a child. Evidently
that music teacher is anxious to get a living in an
easier way than by teaching.”

“It is unjust of you, father, to impute base
motives to one so honorable as Casimir Zamoyski.”

“Ts it possible, Miriam,” father exclaimed, “ that
you have condescended to notice a fortune-seeking
foreigner ?”’

‘Pardon me, father, if I differ from you; but I
believe Casimir Zamoyski to be a cultured gentleman,
and that he is too honorable to marry anyone for
their money

“T doubt it. When you have had as much ex-
perience of the world as I have, you will accept no
one On appearances only.”’

.

loor,
: face
were
upon
livid
acher
con-
ence,
door
rary.
still
him
t his
such

ning

A
s me
ently
n an

base
ski.’’
that

‘king

yut I
man,
e for

1 @X-
it no

CROWNED AT ELIM 13

t shall not record all the scathing words which
passed between us, except that father ended by ex-
claiming: ‘I shall not listen to another word. From
the days of your motherless babyhood I have grati-
fied every caprice, humored every whim, and this is
my reward, that you set up your will in opposition
tomine. But remember, that not a penny of my
money shall go to support a lazy foreigner. When
‘Poverty comes in at the door, Love flies out of the
window,’ and some day you will come creeping back
to me when you find out what starvation means.
But you shall not marry him. You are not to see
him or communicate with him in any way. To
think that I should have to give such a command
to my only child, who I thought possessed a little
of the Tremaine pride! But some lay you will
thank me for opening your eyes in time, and you
will then look back with relief on what you have
escaped.”’

Paris, June 25th, 1837.

It is six days since I wrote in my Journal, and
they have been days fraught with deep importance.
Tuesday night the King died, and on Thursday I
went with my father to see the young Princess pro-
claimed Queen. As we drove towards St. James

-alace, I forgot the approaching crisis in my own
life in the strangeness of the scene. Troops of the
Life Guards took up their stations along the line of
procession, and groups of mounted officers in glitter-
ing uniforms and waving plumes, passed quickly
along the route; while Marshalmen of the Palace
in scarlet coats came and went in busy preparation.

14 CROWNED AT ELIM.

As we drew near to Friary Court, father said we
must get out of the carriage, as there was not room
for it in the quadrangle (which opens on Marl-
horough Gate), because of the crowd. And so, to
my great disgust and inconvenience, we were obliged
to alight, and if it had not been for father I should
have fared badly, being pushed here and there by the
throng. But at last we were able to get inside of
the court.

Here the press was even greater, for it was from
the balcony overlooking the quadrangle that the
young sovereign was to appear. Father helped me
up on the pedestal of a statue, so that I was raised
above the heads of the people; and presently, from
this high vantage point, I suv. the royal carriage
coming slowly along the line, drawn by six milk-
white horses, and escorted by squadrons of the Life
Guards. Following them came the Lord Mayor, the
sheriffs, the aldermen and the mace-bearers in scarlet
fur-trimmed robes, cocked hats, ruffled shirts, silk
knee breeches and low buckled shoes: there came,
too, the Chaplain, the Remembrancer, and the white-
wigged judges of the City Courts.

We watched this imposing spectacle with breath-
less interest, and then every eye in Friary Court was
fixed intently on the balcony, for from the presence
window was emerging a group of gorgeously ar-
rayed figures. First came the Earl Marshal, fol-
lowed by the Garter King-of-Arms and the Heralds
and Pursuivants in tabards wrought with the Royal
coat-of-arms, and gold silk lions and flowers in he-
wildering profusion; then came the state trumpeters
in tunics and caps lavishly embroidered in gold.

1 we
oom
farl-
.— oun
liged
ould
’ the
le of

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from

the
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rom
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be-
ters
old.

CROWNED AT ELIN. 15

Following these, came the Rouge Dragon, the Blue
Mantle, the Maltravers, and then suddenly there
stood in the midst of all that splendor, the young
Princess in simplest mourning.

“We, therefore,” the Garter King-of-Arms read,
“the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this realm,
being here assisted with these of His late Majesty’s
Privy Council, with numbers of other principal
gentlemen of quality, with the Lord Mayor, Alder-
men and Citizens of London, do now hereby with
one voice and consent of tongue and heart, publish
and proclaim that the High and Mighty Princess
Alexandrina Victoria, by the Grace of God Queen of
the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland,
Defender of the Faith: to whom we do acknowledge
all faith and constant obedience, with all hearty and
humble affection, b seeching God, by whom kings and
queens do reign, to bless the Royal Princess Victoria
with long and happy years to reign over us.”’

As I listened to the impressive words, I almost
expected something would happen—that some divine
power would descend from on high and set the seal
of royalty upon the young girl. But nothing hap-
pened. She just stood there, pale, and quiet, and
sad—a Sentle, sweet, young girl in deepest mourning,
I always supposed that kings and queens were dif.
ferent from other people, but this Princess is a young
girl just like me. | suppose if her head aches it
makes her cross, and if a dear friend goes away it
makes her sad. No doubt she found her first exer-
cises in music difficult, just as I did, and was thrilled
with joy when she had mastered one of Chopin's
sonatas. What is the difference between us?

aimnatincsemt=aemme Ts

cavalo epistliAdis,

16 CROWNED AT ELINM.

As I stood there, busy with these thoughts, the
young Princess lifted her head and fastened her large
serious eyes upon me. For a moment my heart
seemed to cease its beating, for I fancied that she
could discern my thoughts, and that she knew I was
about to selfishly leave my father, while she was
that day giving up all her free unfettered girlhood,
and was renouncing herself for all the days to come,
to whatever demands her Empire might make upon
her. So I hung my head, like a culprit, till I re-
membered that father had a wrong cov :eption of
Casimir’s character and that I loved the young
foreigner. Then I looked up again, but that sweet
grave face, speaking of a royal self-renunciation,
was a high tribunal before which my conscience-
smitten thoughts could not stand. Again I decided
that I would not do wrong, for it was wrong. I
would go home, and for all time give up Casimir
Zamoyski.

When the National Anthem was being sung for
the young Queen, father took me to the carriage and
told Jenkins to drive me home, as he had a business
engagement. As we drove along the Mall, Casimir
stepped out from the throng of spectators. Tordered
Jenkins to stop, and in a moment my lover was
by my side.

‘“Portune has favored me,” he said. ‘I thought
your father was with you.”

‘‘He had a business engagment, and told Jenkins
to take me home. I know I am doing wrong, how-
ever, to take you up when father has forbidden me
to see you, but it is an act of charity, is it not?” I
asked, mischievously. But Casimir did not smile.

, the
large
1reart
t she
was
was
100d,
ome,
upon
I re-
on of
oung
weet
tion,
lence-
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as

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e and
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simir
dered

was

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how-
n me
epee]
le.

CROWNED AT ELIM. 17

‘I thought I was to see you whenever possible,”
he said, ‘‘and complete our arrangements?”

“So we decided; but I ave just realized how
wrong it is—our going away. I think it better
that we give up our plans which, after all, are very
selfish.’’

‘Very well,” he answered, wearily.

I looked at his utterly hopeless face, and felt
sorry for him. ‘Shall you be very disappointed ?”
I asked.

“Yes, very; but think of your own happiness,
never mind me.”’

“Will my not going make very much difference
in your life?”

“Yes, I cannot express what you are to me—just
my hope, inspiration, everything! What happiness
has been crowded into the past few days! Miriam,
why did you let me hope? The disappointment is
more cruelnow. They have been busy days, too.
I have arranged everything—the church where we
were to be married, the witnesses, our passage to
France, the quarter in Paris in which we were to
live. I have even obtained letters of introduction
to people in Paris, through whom I shall be able to
get pupils. And in all these arrangements, I have
been assisted by Prince Adam Czartoryshki. He did
not think I was doing wrong, for he knows that I
love you devotedly, and that your father grossly
misjudged me. Now everything is ready and we are
alone. Just an order to the coachman, and we could
drive to Downing street, pick up Prince Adam, and
go from there to the church. But it shall be as you

Say.

18 CROWNED AT ELIM.

I did not reply, my mind was in a whirl. After
a moment he continued:

‘Perhaps you think I could not support you,
but you need have no fear of that. I have been
successful as a teacher of music, and have every
prospect of getting pupils in Paris. I have, besides,
shown my sonata to Karl Czerny, who is now in
London, and he thinks it possesses much merit,
and he says he will speak to Cappi, his publisher,
about it, and he is sure I shall be able to arrange
for its publication.”

His saying that I tuought he could not support
me, touched my pride; so T siid somewhat brus-
quely: ‘‘Casimir, you sure o not think it is
because I cannot trust you to provide for me that I
have changed my mind. I understood from the first
that in becoming your wife I should have to give up
many luxuries to which I have been accustomed, but
I was willing to give them up. My future has noth-
ing to do with my present decision. It is papa that
I am thinking about. He has been such a kind
father, and it would be so selfish of me to go away
and leave him all alone.”

‘IT quite understand how he will miss you, but
no matter whom you marry he will feel your going
away just thesame. However, I am not going to
urge you any more; I am going to tell Jenkins to
put me down at the next corner.”’

As he said this he raised his hand to pull the bell-
rope. I was frightened. I saw that he meant to
leave me just as he said, so ] caught his arm and
held him, saying eagerly, ‘‘ Please don’t leave me just
yet. I am afraid I cannot let you go at all,” Then,

After

t you,
e been
every
esides,
ow in
merit,
lisher,

‘range

ipport
brus-

it is
that I
e first
ve up
d, but
noth-
. that

kind

away

u, but
roing
ng to
ns to

e bell-
nt to
| and
e just

Then,

CROWNED AT ELIM. 19

after a moment’s questioning doubt, I added, “ Tell
Jenkins to drive to Downing street; or perhaps we
had better alight at Street. After we find Prince
Adam we can get a cab to take us to the church.”

Well, we went to the church, and—here we are.

Paris, June 15th, 1839.

How dismal everything looked this morning and
how bright this evening. It is all owing to a visit
from our ministering angel, Prince Adam Czartoryski.
Casimir has been so ill: money all gone; pupils scat-
tered. He was unconscious of all the trials to which
I have been subjected during his long illness till this
morning, when he questioned me about everything,
Though I tried to keep things from him, he seemed
intuitively to understand it all. We were talking
when the bell rang, and who should come in but our
dear Prince Adam. He had been at his estate in
Galicia for some months, and did not know of
Casimir’s illness till he came.

‘My poor boy, my poor boy,” was all he said as
he took Casimir’s wasted fingers in his—the Prince
was never a demonstrative man, but Casimir’s lip
trembied at the tenderness of the tone. ‘‘ How have
matters been going with you, my boy?” the Prince
asked.

“Pretty fair, till I was taken sick.”

“And now I can see that you need a long rest.”
As he spoke, the Prince gave a swift glance around
our piain little apartment. Evidently he was won-
dering what would become of us two, for he saw as
plainly 1s I that Casimir would be unable to take
up the cares of his profession for some time. I saw

rnd fosvorenbtonndemsinssattierentett

i
'

20 CROWNED AT ELIM.

that he had a plan in his head, but never suspected
what it was till he turned to me and said:

‘LT came around by London, 2rd I saw your
father.”’

“Did you? How was he?” T inquired, anxiously.

‘*He was looking rather worn and worried, but
I fancied that he might be reconciled to your mar-
riage if you would go to him and ask his forgive-
ness.”’

‘‘But did he send no message ?”’

‘‘No, when I told him that I would see you in
Paris, he merely said, ‘Oh, they are living in Paris,
are they?’ Nevertheless, if I were in your place I
would go and tell him of your husband’s illness, and
I know he would do something for you.”

‘Oh, mon Prince,” I exclaimed, ‘‘I could never
do that—never! It would kill me to crave his assist-
ance. He told me that if I married Casimir, I would
come creeping back to him some day, when I had
found out what starvation meant.”

‘Did he tell you that, Miriam?”

“Yes, Casimir; but never mind, we shall not
have to go to him. I have hands; I can work.”’

Prince Adam was silent for a while, and then he
said: ‘ They tell me Volkonski has been pardoned
by the Czar, and that he has come into favor with
His Majesty. I understand it was Prince Lieven
who effected the reconciliation. I was just thinking
what a fine thing it would be if something could be
done for you. It would not do to expect a govern-
ment position, but if you might just be allowed to
go home for a while, what a fine thing it would be
for you and Miriam. But I have thought of every

ected
your

ously.
d, but
/ mar-
rgive-

rou in
Paris,
lace I
s, and

never
ASSiSt-
would

I had

ll not
rr

ien he
doned
‘with
Aeven
nking
uld be
yvern-
red to
1ld be
every

CROWNED AT ELIM. 21

available person, and I know of no one whom we
could send on this mission. Any efforts which I
might make would be worse than useless.”’

“Let me go,’’ I said, eagerly. As I made this
proposition both Casimir and the Prince looked at
mein wonder. ‘ Please do not object, mon Prince,”
I added, coaxingly, as he was silent. ‘‘ Your Excel-
lency must know that there could be no one who
would have such an incentive for bringing the mis-
sion to a successful issue as myself. I should not
return till my husband’s pardon was an accom-
plished fact. I know I would succeed. I should not
even for a moment dream of failure. Please say
that you think it advisable for me to go.”

“I do think it quite advisable; but do you
realize what you are undertaking? The length of
the journey, your youth and, from the Czar’s stand-
point, the gravity of your husband's offence?”

“Tam ready to overcome all difficulties if you
and Casimir will only say that I may go.”’

‘And what will become of me in your absence,
little wifie?”’

“Oh, I will take care of you if Miriam is really
determined to go,” the Prince answered. “I shall
be more than delighted to have you come and stay
with me at my chateau at Montfermiel. Indeed, I
should be only too pleased to have you both live
with me altogether. But a few weeks at Mont-
fermiel is just the change you need, Casimir. You
may stroll through the park to your heart’s content,
and hear music in the bird song and in the voice of
the evening wind. You will be able to compose
music in such surroundings much better than when

22 CROWNED AT ELIM.

shut in these small rooms. And now in regard to
Miriam's going; when shall it be?”

‘Since you have so kindly offered to take care of
Casimir, mon Prince, I should like to go just as soon
as he is able to be taken to Montfermiel, and the
sooner he leaves this hot city the better.”

“Very well, we will have him comfort; ibly settled
at the cha iteau, and then I shall see you safely off on
your journey.’

Ever since the Prince went aw ay this morning,
Casimir has been talking of St. Petersburg, and
now, poor boy, he is so excited that he cannot sleep.

Madame Zamoyski was suddenly brought back
to Riverside by the ringing of the luncheon bell.
Where had the morning gone? And, alas, the entry
in her journal was still to be written.

ird to

are of
} soon

id the

ettled
ff on

‘ning,
, and
sleep.

back
bell.
entry

a bietiet,

CROWNED AT ELIM. 23

CHAPTER III.

REMA, in the meantime, had enjoyed the morn-
ie ing very much. On going into the meadow,
she was delighted to find the ground almost
covered with strawberry vines, under which the ripe
fruit glowed temptingly. In a fence corner she found
a much delapitated lunch basket; this she lined with
leaves, and was soon engaged in the pleasant task
of filling it with ripe berries. Her face glowed with
pleasure beneath her broad-rimmed hat. It was
such a novel experience to the town-bred maiden ¢o
revel in all that hounty which Nature had scattered
about so lavishly. No prospector coming suddenly
on a “find,” could have more pure joy in his rich
discovery than she in all that wealth of strawberries.
But, like the prospector, she was ever on the alert
for fresh scenes of fruitfulness. Looking through a
fence she espied some especially large berries in the
next field, which she 10 sooner noticed than she
scrambled over the fence and proceeded to fill her
basket high with the tempting fruit. Not one more
berry would her basket hold, and she was just about
to retrace her steps when she became suddenly aware
that she was not alone in the meadow. She had
heen so engrossed in her task that she did not see a

genileman approaching till he stood beside her.

24 CROWNED AT ELIM.

“Ah, with whom have I the pleasure of sharing
my strawberries?" a pleasant voice asked. Trema,
on looking up, found a pair of very keen gray eyes
fixed upor her. She never was so thoroughly star-
tled in her life. In the first place she was alarmed to
find that she had been taking fruit which did not
belong to her. Then she never remembered having
seen such a strange looking gentleman. He was a
mixture of beauty and ugliness. A fine noble head
and a body badly deformed, though he was tall not-
withstanding his deformity ; a pair of most beautiful
gray eyes in a face much marred by sears. It would
seem that Nature had intended him to be almost
perfect enough for a Greek god, but the Fates had
decreed otherwise. In one moment Trema noticed
the curved back, the scarred cheek, the features of
such perfect outline that they might have been
the model for the deathless marble of a Phidias or
Angelo; and the eyes—but when she looked into
those eyes she decided that he wasn’t dreadful at all.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she answered, her
native dignity overcoming her confusion, “I was
not aware that this meadow was your property.
My name is Trema Zemoyski. I ama daughter of
Casimir Zamoyski, who has bought Vinerount. I
hope you will pardon my intrusion, and, indeed, you
may have the berries,” holding them towards him
timidly. ‘There are lots over the fence, only they
are not so large.”

‘Oh, nonsense, Miss Trema!”’ The gray eyes
were sparkling now. “The berries are of no value
to me. I believe my housekeeper has more than
she can use. So you are my new neighbor at

sharing
Trema,
ay eyes
lv star-
med to
lid not
having
was a
e head
ll not-
autiful
would
iumost
es had
ioticed

ires of

been
lias or
1 into
at all.
1, her
[ was
perty.
ter of
nt. {
|, you
s him
they

eyes
value
than
Ir at

CROWNED AT ELIM 25

~*

Vinemount? I was speaking to your father on the
vecasion of his first visit here. | Suppose vou have
scarcely seen your new surroundings yet. If you
will go downto the braeside yonder, you will see one
of the prettiest spots hereabouts.”

jraeside?”’ she said, perplexedly, the Scotch
word falling quaintly from her lips,

“Yes; the brae, you know—the hill, the cliff,
Come, I'll show you a spot from which you will get
a fine view of the rocks.”’

“Oh, thank you! But my berries will melt in the
sun. And my hands—just look at them!” holding
up her little hands with their pink fingers.

“I'll put your basket under the bush here, and
you can bathe your fingers in the river, like the
naiads used to do in classic story.”

When they came to the river bank he helped her
to descend its rugged sides, and with much laughing
she bathed her berry-stained fingers, standing on a
huge boulder, where the water ran clear, to do so.
Afterwards she wiped them on his handkerchief,
which he obligingly loaned her.

They proceeded along the narrow path between
the cliff and the river, when, presently, they came to
aspot which caused Trema to stop in her pleasant
talk and look upward with wondering eves. As they
had gone along she had been listening to her new
friend’s interesting conversation, at the same time
gathering flowers which grew in the crevices of the
rock; again, examining some piece of petrified moss
or other curiosity which her new neighbor seemed on
the alert to find for her, so she did not notice that
the walls of limestone were getting higher and more

oo agente 1

ee

a

i
U

eee

26 CROWNED AT ELIM

precipitous till they came to a bend in the river, and
then she looked up.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed. “See that rock
across the river? It is a veritable castle. See the
buttress, and bastion, and old castle keep! Isn’t it
grand? And there is a window, and it is a real
window, too!"’ she added, excitedly. “I can see
away intoit. Isn't the rock solid all through?”

“No,” the gentleman answered. ‘That is the
entrance to quite a large cave. There is a hidden
well within, which, however, no one in these days

has been able to find.

‘Then how do people know a well is there?”

“It is a tradition handed down by the Indians,
and seems to have some truthinit. Whether true
or not, the story is a very pathetic one. Come, we
had betier retrace our steps, and I will tell you the
story if you would like to hear it.”’

“Oh, pleas ) me. I should like it all
things.”’

“Well, it is said that years ago when the coun-
try was all a wilderness, when the red man was
monarch of these forests, that a party of Europeans
were finding their way from Ogdensburg to the Ohio
Valley. In the party was a young girl about fifteen
years old, daughter of the owner of the caravans.
She must have been very beautiful, for the Indians
afterward named her Falling Star. She had with
her a cithara on which she played in the warm even-
ings when the caravans stopped for the night. The
sweet music and her wonderful beauty attracted the
attention of Big Bear, a chief of one of the Mohawk
Nation, who had been down on some warfaring

rer, and

it rock
See the
Isn’t it
; a real
san see

is the
hidden

se days
3

indians,
ier true
me, we
‘ou the

e coun-
n was
ypeans
e Ohio
fifteen
avans,
ndians
1 with
1 even-

The
ed the
yhawk
‘faring

CROWNED AT ELIM <7

expedition to the Falls, and he determined to carry
her back to his country,

“He accordingly watched his opportunity, and
when one evening she wandered a short distance
from the caravans, he seized her. Making a sign
that he would kill her if she cried out, he lifted her in
his arms and hurried to join his followers.

“Among them was a young Indian named Long
Bow, whose heart was touched at the dreadful fate
which had overtaken the white maiden, and he deter-
mined to rescue her and return her to her people.
This was, however, not easily accomplished, as the
old chief kept constant guard over her.

“They crossed the river some distance above the
Falls, and then proceeded westward several days’
journey till they reached this river, which they fol-
lowed until they came to a place above Riverside—
the chiefs home. In all that distance Long Bow
had no opportunity of rescuing the young girl, but
he hoped when they reached their destination that
the chief would be less watchful. And so it proved,
for on their arrival he put Falling Star into the
young Indian's charge, with a threat that he was to
look sharply after her,

“The moment of rescue had come. Long Bow
only waited till all was still about the tepees, then
he motioned Falling Star to follow him. She obeyed
willingly, for she understood that he meant to he-
friend her. They slipped quietly down to the river.
where a canoe was in readiness. Softly he pushed it
down the stream till they came to a point below the
cave; gently he lifted her from the c inoe, climbed
with her up that steep ascent, drew aside the twigs

28 CROWNED AT ELIM

and bows which concealed the entrance to the cave,
and placed her within. Returning to the canoe he
brought some food and her beloved cithara, which
she still had. Acain the canoe was paddled softly
up the stream, and she was alone w ith the stars, the
silence and the night.

‘Again the stars came out, and again there was
silence around the tepees. Long Bow stopped his
canoe beneath the cave entrance and gave a low
peculiar call. It vras answered by a few strains of
soft weird music, and the young Indian ascended
with another supply of food. He explained that
Great Bear was angry at her disappearance; he dare
not start on the journey yet, lest the chief overtake
them. He would try and make the chief believe that
some wild animal had carried her off. Se every night
the canoe glided down the stream, and strange sweet
airs floated out over the water. Then one evening
Long Bow brought the glad news that the chief had
gone on a hunting expedition, and they would be
able to start that evening. But when he was climb-
ing to the cave for the last time, an arrow whizzed
for a moment through the air and lodged in the back
of the young brave, and with a groan he fell back-
wards into the water.

“Falling Star, watching at the cave entrance,
saw the arrow and, on the opposite side, Great Bear
still holding the bow, and with a scream she turned
and fled into the cave Presently she heard footsteps
behind her; smothering a cry she increased her speed,
running on and on, till suddenly there was a splash,
a gurgling ery, and silence. When the pursuers came
up a moment later, the beautiful face of Falling Star

CROWNED AT ELIM. 29

) appeared for an instant on the surface of the water,
and then sank out of sight forever.

‘And the Indians say that on summer nights a
canoe has been seen to glide down the river guided
by no visible hand, and that strange weird music
floats from the cave out over the water, making
mournful sounds among the huge old rocks, like far

echoes from the spirit-land.”’

There was a suspicion of tears in Trema’s eyes
f when the legend was finished. ‘‘ What asad story,”
| she said, looking back to catch a las glimpse of the
: legendary spot; but the rock was out of sight, they
; had turned the bend in the river.

They now came to a flight of natural steps
formed in the limestone, which they ascended. When
. they reached the top, he said:
C ‘“Now you can see the whole extent of Riverside.
It is not as large as St. Petersburg, nor yet as
Toronto, Still, I think you will find many sincere
friends here, for they are a true people. Over
yonder is our little kirk. I hope to see you there
to-morrow.”

“Thank you, I shall be pleased to attend the
service. Then you go to the kirk?”

‘Yes,’ he answered, smiling, “I go to the kirk.”
’ Ina few moments they had again reached the

r meadow, where Trema found her berries unharmed,
1 and thanking her new neighbor for the pleasure he
s had given her, she ran quickly along the garden path
’ to the house. She stopped a moment in the kitchen
'y to give Hannah her berries; then, when hanging up
e her hat in the hell, she glanced into the mirror and
r

was amazed t» see a large berry-stain on her face,

30 CROWNED AT ELIM.

left there when she had brushed back her hair with
her juice-covered fingers.

“Trema Zamoyski!” she exclaimed, “what a
fright you are! And then you do not even know the
name of your interesting neighbor. How stupid!”’

But strangely enough she never asked her father
for the information.

Wii melt

CROWNED AT ELIM. 31

CHAPTER IV.

HE Sabbath which followed was a memorable
=e one for Trema. Indeed, it might be said that
it was for her parents also. Casimir Zamoyski
had at last found a place where he might lay down
the burdens of life. He was very well pleased with
Vinemount and he liked, too, the little town so close
at hand. A sense of tranquility seemed to pervade
the place, and he thought that he could ask nothing
better than that he might live and die in that rural
spot.

They went to the kirk by the river path, because
Trema elected to go that vy yay. She was captivated
by the weird grandeur of those frowning old rocks.
She could scarcely divest her mind of the idea that
they had all been planned and -uly drawn up by an
architect; that the forests of wide-spreading beeches
and maples had been planted by a landscape artist;
that the river had its source somewhere in a huge
reservoir and came rushing along between the rocks
at the will of some autocrat. This idea came from
the artificial nature of St. Petersburg, where Trema
had spent her early years. There she had driven
about a good deal with her grandmother, who had
taken pains to instruct her in all they saw. Thus
she came to know that Peter the Great had founded

32 CROWNED AT ELIM,
the city on a des barren marsh; that the canals,
lakes, groves a meadows which followed each

other in dreamy succession were all artificial. So
that natural scenery unaided by the work of man
was a source of continual wonder to her.

Madame Zamoyski was not so interested. She
frowned when her dress—a beautiful siik—brushed
against a damp moss-covered rock. She was dis-
gusted when she found her fine shoes were being
soiled by the damp earth, and informed Trema that
if she liked muddy roads and dirty rocks she might
go that way alone, but for herself she preferred go-
ing by the high-road. Trema was sorry and apolo-
getic; her father said nothing, being engrossed in
the skeleton of a fish which he had found. They
reached the kirk, however, without mishap. It was
the only church in the little town, and probably that
was the reason why it was such a fine building. Be
that as it may, it was noted far and wide for the
beauty of its architecture and the elegance of its
interior adornments.

When inside, Trema cast a furtive glance around
for her new acquaintance. She was quite anxious
to see him, or at least she was anxious that he
should see her with her face cleansed of berry-stains.
But, alas, he was nowhere to be seen. She dared
not look again, for that glimpse had shown her that
her parents and herself were the cynosure of all eves.
It was not often arrivals came to Riverside of the
Zamoyskis, and their ‘“ heathenish
name”’ had attracted considerable attention. River-
side had not quite made up its mind whether to
expect these foreigners to appear in sheepskin or

prominence of the

Sais... inti

CROWNED AT ELIM. 33

deerskin clothing. Imagine its surprise, therefore,
when Casimir Zamoyski accompanied by his wife
and daughter, walked down the aisle of the kirk
clad in the most elegant costumes that the city
could produce. It is safe to say that Casimir
Zamoyski never before in all his life attracted so
much attention. Not when he bore his part so nobly
at Warsaw; not when he fought at Modlin by the
side of his dear Prince; not even when he stood
with his aristocratic mother in the presence of the
Czar, had he been the target for so Many curious
eyes. Trema was quite overshadowed by the
majesty of her father and the Stately dignity of her
mother. She opened a Psalter, and tried to oncen-
trate her attention on the Psalms. She v ras grow-
ing impatient for the service to begin, when the
vestry door opened and there he was—her new
neighbor—in black gown and white bands. How
well he looked up there in the pulpit! His deformity
was no longer conspicuous, and there was about
him an indescribable air of majesty, greatness and
strength, combined with a child-like Sympathy, that
drew all sorrowing hearts to him for comfort and
help.

Trema could not tell wherein the difference lay
between her acquaintance of yesterday and _ this
minister in the pulpit, but she felt dominated by a
presence majestic, impressive and powerful, and the
state of her mind was very humble indeed. Yester-
day she had taken his berries: like a child she had
gone with him for a walk with a berry-stained face.
To-day his very presence Overpowered her. In his
robes of sacred office he seemed as unapproachable

} CROWNED AT ELIM

as the statue of St. Peter guarding the entrance to
the holy of holies in that far-off church 1n St. Peters-
burg. This, then, was the Rev. David McGlashan,
of whom she had heard her father speak and whom
Riverside adored

he silence which followed the opening exercises
was broken by the voice of the minister reading his
text: ‘Until the day break and the shadows flee
away, turn my beloved, and be thou like aroeora
young hart upon the mountains of Betier.’’ What
a voice he had!—deep, and quiet, and impressive.
The very tones seemed to wrap the hearers in a
mantle of solemnity, and to lift their hearts away
from the common noiseness of the world—away to
a spiritual region of holy Sabbath peace.

Trema never forgot that service. Whether it was
the theme of the sermon or the simple dignity of the
worship, or the novelty of her surroundings, which
impressed her she was not quite clear, but it proved
one of the unforgettable services of her life. ‘Until
the day break and the shadows flee away,” again
that marvellous voice sounded down the aisles of the
kirk. As the people listened, that story of the Bride
and the Lamb was no longer a visionary parable of
afar off century; it was a picture painted there be-
fore them. They saw the elect, the chosen one, cast
abroad a foundling infant; they saw His tendercom-
passion as He took her to His heart and nourished
all her helpless years; His sacrificial love when, with
His blood, He ransomed her from death, and His
thoughtful care when He left her for awhile to pre-
pare her home above. They saw how the way was

long and lonely and dreary for her. They heard her

CROWNED AT ELIM. 35

low, sweet ery, ‘Turn, my beloved,” for she wished
the comfort of His presence with her. They wit-
nessed all the terrors of that night-time journey, the
wild beasts that were ready to devour her, the
snares that were laid to entrap her, the temptations
that beset her. They watched her as she went down
into the shadows of the woods and the hills—aye,
into the very valley of the shadow—and then, oh,
joy! they saw the day break and the shadows flee
away forever, and the Bridegroom come to claim her
for whom He had waited so long.

Then, when the people were caught up in that
mood of exaltation, the minister passed from the
tone of tender pathos in which he had been speaking
to one of stern denunciation, and the people saw
themselves as they were, ungrateful, proud, idol-wor-
shippers of worldly possessions, They had spurned
the King of kings, and had burned incense to the
“queen of heaven’’; they had forgotten the Lamh
that was slain, and had paid homage to the prince
of the power of the air: their Lord and Master was
away and they cared not; they had raised a barrier
of worldly interests in their hearts, over which He
could not come; all communion with Him was
stopped, ye. they were at their ease.

Then, when the minister saw that their hearts
were touched and their eyes were dim with repent-
ant tears, he put out his hands as if he would gather
that erring congregation to his heart, and a weft of
holy radiance covered his face like a veil, as he said

Saag SO Se ve

= as sscshinissstes oe eee
SPR 5 PLMURRNERDRE RSET Sn) pe Te S

es tnt

Tite eaten

tenderly :
“Oh, my people! How long will you grieve
your Master? How long will you deny yourselves

36 CROWNED AT ELIM

the protection of those Almighty arms? Return to

Him with repentance; then, shalt thou not be afraid
for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth
by day. Under such safe guidance you may go
cheerfully on your way, singing your songs in the
night. What though the clouds overcast! What
though you enter some black and shadowy valley,
you will be safe; till the mists flee away and the new
day dawn for you and me in Immanuel’s land.”

CROWNED AT ELIM.

~j

CHAPTER WV.

zs HE Roosians were at the Kirk yesterday,”’
T said Malcolm McKinnon, as he waited for
Donald Bell to do up a parcel of groceries.
“Its a jidgment, I'm thinkin’, tae hae sich folk come
amang us wi’ their foreign manners to tempt oor
hairts frae Sion. Did ye notice them kneel thro’ the
prayer? I'm sair astonished the meenister didna
admonish them for sich heathenish practices.’

“It wass a goot sermon that he preached them,
ind they would be listening fery attentively,’’ Donald
answered. ‘It may be he will drop some seeds of
truth which will yet bear goot fruit in their hearts.
I would be thinking as he preached of what iss said
of the Son of Onias: ‘How wass he honored in the
midst of his people in his coming out of the sanc-
tuary? He wass as the morning star in the midst of
a cloud, and as the moon at the full; as the sun shin-
ing upon the temple of the Most High, and as the
rainbow giving light in the bright clouds; and asthe
flower of roses in the spring of the year, as lilies by
the rivers of waters, and as the frankincense tree in
Summer; as fire and incense in the censer; as a fair
olive tree budding forth fruit, and as a cypress which
groweth up to the clouds. When he put on the robe
of honour, and was clothed with the perfection of

38 CROWNED 17 ELIM

glory, when he went up to the holy altar, he made
the garment of holiness honourable.’ ”’

‘“ That is a fine passage, Donald Bell,”” said Mat-
thew Carruth, who was waiting to get his mail.
‘As for they new fowk,’am feared they are up tae
nae guid. Wha kens but they micht hae come tae
spread Anarchy or Nihilism amang us.”

‘Anarchy or Nihilism? You people in this new
contrée, what you know of Anarchy or Nihilism, eh?”

At this abrupt question Matthew turned and
met the glowing face of Jean Baptiste, lately come
from Montreal. But before he had time to reply,

Jean continued:

‘You come here, you get som land for nutting
almost, you got no monnaie. What matter? You
take your axe, you fell some trees, you build log
shanty; clear small piece land; plant potatoes; sow
wheat; raise peegs, and sare you are. Then you
breeng your wife an’ she help you mooch. "Mong
oder tings ver’ nécessaire is sugar. Ver’ well, in the
spring you tap the trees, the sap run good, you boil
it down—have tree, four hundred pounds fine maple
sugar. Then you want some new clothes to wear,
so you shear the sheep an’ your wife she spin the
wool; then with weaver’s loom an’ shuttle she turn
itinto thick warm cloth. In the fall you cut down
some trees, you bring your sleigh an’ oxen, an’ soon
the woodyard is filled; an’ you have mooch con-
tentment, an’ sing with joy as the yellow chips fly
upward. Then Chris’mas time you take slaughtered
beef cattle, an’ turkeys, an’ geese, an’ ducks to mar-
ket, an’ you bring home lots of tings—a new dress
for your wife, maybe, an’ toys to put in the stocking

de

of your leetle boy. An’ as you drive towards home,

the stars glitter, an’ the wind she blow, an’ far off

in the woods you hear the how! of the wolf, perhaps.
But what you care? Way through the trees you
see the light of your home, an’ soon your wife she
hear jingle of the bells, an’ come to the door with
your leetle boy in her arms, an’ he laughs an’ crows
like he was wild with joy. Then in the house your
arm chair is drawn to the fire, the kettle sings, an’
hot cakes smoke on the table.

‘‘ But in France there is a difference. Some grand
Seigneur he own the land, an’ the poor man pays big
rent. Then some time the crops not grow, an’ the
bailiff of the grand Seigneur he come an’say the poor
man must pay or he will sell his goods. So one day
everyting is taken from him, an’ his wife she pine an’
die, an’ he go to the great ceety an’ tink to find
work; but there is no work.

“Then, by an’ by, he go to live down in the back
alley. No sunshine there, no pure air; but rotten
garbage all around. An’ the smell! Mon Dieu, how
it rises to heaven! The pauper an’ the felon they
herd together with no inch of ground their own; but
by an’ by they will get six feet of earth in Potter’s
Field, perhaps.

“So one night, when the poor man is very much
désolée, a gentleman he come along, an’ he sees the
man in deep sorrow, an’ he speak so kind like he was
a friend, an’ tell him there are some people who will
help him if he will go with him. So the poor man he
follow the stranger along dark streets an’ back
alleys, an’ through hidden passageways, an’ across
paved courts, an’ up some flights of stairs. Then he

CROWNED AT ELIM oo

40 CROWNED AT ELIM

open a door, an’ behold! many lights an’ a vast
assemblée. On the stage he sees a man throwing his
arms about, like he was mad, an’ telling the people
with floods of words that he is the poor man’s
friend. An’ the poor unfortunate listens with much
empressement, an’ afterwards it is all over with
him—he is an Anarchist.

“But it does not end there. Oh, no. Heisa
member but a leetle whe when he finds one, two,
tree members have much domination, an’ are more—
what you call it ?—despotique than the grand Seign-
eur, or the Czar of Russia. One day they give hima
death card. They are going to assassinate Son
Altesse Prince—an’ the new member is to do the kill-
ing. It is no use his saying ‘No.’ His life is of no
more value to them than one leetle mouse. If he run
away they will find him, though he hide in the great
ceety, or live in a dark cave. or go to some island
far off in the sea, they will find him an’ kill him if
he disobey.

“He goes home, an’ this deed he has to do it
haunts him every moment. In his sleep he sees his
victim—he has stabbed him. Blood on his hands!—
human blood! Oh, the horror of it! His victim
moves; he is not dead. He cannot leave him like
that. One more thrust—he is still now. But his
eyes, mon Dieu, how they stare! The assassinator
trembles—the hair of his head rises up—he tries to
get away, but his feet are chained. He makes one
violent effort—he awakes. It is a dream—he is not
amurderer. No, and he will be one never. He will
go aboard a vaisseau. He will sail for Amérique.
For a time he will be free.

St
11s
dle
i's

CROWNED AT ELIM 11

“That, my friends, is \narchy—that is Nihilism.
Do vou see why it would not progress in this new
contrée? An’ this Stranger, he has not come to
spread Anarchy. I think not. But he have dreadful
experience, mayhe, an’so he hide away, an’ live quiet
here at Riverside. But some day, certainement, the
Anarchists they find him. sure. Or it may be that
this stranger is Michel Bakunin, himself.”

‘Michel Bakunin iss a new name to the people of
this place.”

“Never heard of Michel Bakunin? Parbley !’
exclaimed Jean. Then lowering his voice and glanc-
ing over his shoulder to see that no fresh arrival] had
come in to overhear him. he continued: ‘* Why even
the winds an’ the waves seem to know him an’ help
him every time he is in trouble. He is a Russian—
one of the heau monde, When he grow up he go
to Poland, where he was a militaire. He see the
people were made to suffer much oppression under
Constantine an’ other officers very despotique. An’
he say, ‘The poor people they have a very hard
time; me don't much like this beesiness.’ Then he
go to Paris an’ to Germany, an’ all the time, every-
where, he preach Anarchy, an’ have much people to
follow him. Then he fight in Revolutionz ry War,
an’ is condemned to die: but he get free, an’ the
Russians they get him an’ put him in prison. He get
free again, an’ they very angry; an’ look, an’ look
for him everywhere, Then they find him again, an’
send him to Siberia, where he live till this year. An’
now I get a letter from Paris, from mon pere, an’ he
tell me this Michel Bakunin he escape from Siberia
an’ come with wife an’ child to Amérique. An’ this

2
j
t
.

o~

£2 CROWNED AT ELIM.

stranger—who knows? He is, perhaps, not Casimir
Zamoyski at all, but the Anarchist so celebre.

‘An’ now I must be going, Monsieur Bell, if you
lave no letter for me. But I warn » ou—keep a
watch on this stranger. Something too quiet about
him.

‘‘ He iss a smart young man, that Jean Baptiste,”
said Donald, when the door had closed on the lo-
quacious young Frenchman, ‘but I would be think-
ing that he knows a fery great deal about the
Anarchists hi-uself, for all he is so young—not yet

”

twenty. And he will be getting fery many letters
from Paris, and fery many from Montreal, likewise.
But he iss a nice young man, whatever, and has a
most pleasing countenance.”’

Notwithstanding the dark rumors which floated
ubout, however, the Zamoyskis soon grew to be
favorites with the villagers. Perhaps the mystery
surrounding them only lent an added charm, but
certain it is that Casimir Zamoyski was the first to
win their regard. His cultured mind, graceful bear-
ing, and kindly disposition impressed all who saw
him; while the deep interest which he at once evinced
in all that pertained to the affairs of the c ommunity,
at once placed him high in the esteem of the vill: gers,
Nor was his popularity limited to the elder portion
of Riverside residents. When it was rumored that
he had engaged in actual battle, every child in the
place at once set him on high for hero-worship. In
fact his popularity threatened to rival even that of
Charlie Kinnear, the village schoolmaster. And
to be a favorite schoolmaster in Riverside meant to
be exalted as a demi-god: to be the polar star in

I
|
t
{
}
t

:

CROWNED AT ELIM. 43

the village society; the beau ideal of the country
maidens, and the particular object of envy of the
rustic swains. Of course, in these matters, Charlie
Kinnear, being a young man, would still bear the
palin of victory.

Nor were the other members of the family for-
gotten. Before two months had passed, Madame
Zamoyski had received calls from many of the ladies
of the town, while Trema had been invited to
‘spend the afternoon” at all the farms near at
hand. Some of these invitations she had accepted,
and through them had caught glimpses of farm life
which were new and interesting. It must be con-
fessed, however, that at first these country boys and
girls looked upon her with wonder, not unmixed
with awe.

It was twelve-year-old Jamie Cairns, of Willow
Bank farm, who thought he had solved the mystery
respecting this foreign product of a heathenish clime.
Trema had first surprised him with her knowledge
of trees, plants and rocks, which was Strange, he
thought, for one who had never before lived in the
country; and Jamie did not know such things could
be learned from books. When she talked to his
grown-up brother, Stewart, of the college in Toronto
(which he hoped soon to enter), of the professors
and lecturers; of the new university then building,
of its fine situation, secluded as it was in a generous
exposure of restful nature, of its Norman architec-
ture, its square tower, its cupolas, its turrets, its
entire medieval aspect—Jamie listened in amazed
silence. And when at tea-time she entered into
a spirited discussion with his father about some

anne nce mene

i a

9 et cs te:

44 CROWNED AT ELIM.

political question, which was unintelligible to him,
he decided she was different from most girls. But
when out in the garden after tea, Trema entertained
them with descriptions of things she had seen in
St. Petersburg, the light dawned upon Jamie—he
wondered he had not thought of it before—she w~s
a fairy princess. Por who but a fairy princess had
ever seen priests whose robes glittered with geld
and jewels, palaces witi floors of inlaid marble,
walls of onyx and alabaster and ceilings frescoed in
beautiful designs? Who, indeed? It was just like
a story from the Arabian Nights.

“And if that is not proof enough,” Jamie trium-
phantly whispered to Elsie, ‘just look at her dress!”
Trema’s frocks were always made of beautiful soft
materials never before seen in Riverside. The argu-
ment was convincing and little Elsie became a ready
convert. But when they spoke of their discovery to
Beth, their ardor was considerably dampened; un-
fortunately for Jamie’s theory, Beth was seventeen,
and no longer cared for tales of fairy enchantment.

“Don't you think she might, just by a word,
cause a whole retinue of servants to appear like
Paribanon did?’ asked Jamie, when he had finished
telling Beth the tale of wonder.

‘‘Trema a fairy!”’ exclaimed Beth. ‘The idea!
You had better keep your wild notions to yourself,
or I'll tell mother that you have been reading the
Arabian Nights, which you know quite well she has
forbidden you to open.”

“Then how does Trema know so much?” asked
Jamie, defiantly. ‘‘ Besides, all her ways are different

’

from yours.” Trema’s graceful movements and

pometidi loos. |

tat WS TD lll eT lf

45

dail

CROWNED AT ELIM. 45

com,osed, unruffled dignity had perplexed Jamie;
yet, looking at her as a fairy princess, it was all
right, for did not the story say of Paribanon, that
“her air was graceful and majestic, yet sweetly easy
and encouraging.”

“Evidently,” answered Beth, laughing, ‘ Trema
Zamoyski was not born and brought up at Willow
Bank farm.”’

Jamie went away quite crestfallen, followed by
Elsie who was sorry to see him disappointed. She
did not know anything about Paribanon, but she
thought Trema Zamoyski very beautiful and quite
lovely enough to be a fairy princess. Jamie was
somewhat compensated for his disappointment by
finding that Trema, notwithstanding her princess-
like ways, was eager to join in any fun which they
might suggest; whether it was riding from the field
on a load of grain, swinging in the orchard, or play-
ing some game in the evening twilight.

So these first months at Riverside passed very
pleasantly. One day in September, Beth and Elsie
Cairns came to visit at Vinemount, bringing a little
cousin, Ruth Chudleigh, with them. As jt happened
that two other young friends also came to see Trema
that day, they made quite a little party and went
out on the lawn to play tennis. But Elsie and Ruth
did not know how to play tennis, and coaxed them
to play instead, ‘King Arthur was King William’s
Son,”’ and though the older girls thought it childish
to join in such a game, yet to please Ruth and Elsie
they consented. One game followed another, and
they were just in the midst of “Open the Gates as
High as the Sky,” when a hat which Trema well

46 CROWNED AT ELIM.

knew appeared above the hedge. It was Mr. Me-
Glashan and he was watching them.

Trema was annoyed. Though there was but a
hedge between the grounds of the Manse and the
lawns of Vinemount, yet she had never again talked
with the minister. She had never been able to shake
off the feeling of awe with which he had impressed
her at that first service in the kirk. She had also an
idea that he thought her childish—an unendurable
humiliation to a young lady who was sixteen four
months ago. For these reasons she had sedulously
avoided meeting him, notwithstanding that he and
her father were great friends, and that she saw him
every day walking about among his flowers, some-
times assisting the gardener with his work, theugh
more often walking gravely to and fro, his hands
clasped behind him and his head bent slightly for-
ward, as if in deep thought. She had noticed that
he was generally in his garden in the morning hours,
so that while playing these “ames she had felt quite
secure from observation. But now—when she stood
with her arms raised above her head, with her
hands clasping Beth's to form an arch, with Hilda
3ain’s arms encircling her waist, and little Ruth
Chudleigh just passing under the bridge ready to be
caught—the familiar face had appeared above the
hedge, to bring carmine to Trema’s cheeks, and the
fire to her eyes. She resented his being there, though
certainly he had a right to walk where he liked in
his own grounds, However, she would not break
up the game because she had been seen; she would
go on with it to the end.

The young minister, all unconscious of having

UR itenlikseund [wie

teleriett

ride dlaseaal [wih

Va

oo

CROWNED AT ELIM. 47

raised angry thoughts in his neighbor’s mind,
stopped by the hedge and watched the game to its
conclusion. He had been attracted by the familiar
rhymes which he had so often repeated in his
childish days. And not only did they recall familiar
scenes of childhood, but they had gained a new
significance now that in his later years he knew
their origin. He had found, for instance, that the
game, ‘‘ King Arthur was King William’s Son,” had
originated from an historical romance of the twelfth
century; that the game they had just played,
‘Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green,”
was a corruption of an old ballad: that “Uncle John
is very sick, what shall we send him,” had come
down from medizval days, when an imprisoned
knight was saved from death by the daughter of the
king who kept him in confinement. The game
which was now in progress had been played by the
boys and girls on the streets of Rome in the days of
Virgil. It had a spiritual significance and was a
representation of the strife between the good and
evil powers of the soul. As the young man watched
the game, he thought of how people of all ages had
been conscious of that struggle of good and evil in
the heart. Zoroaster, the heathen philosopher, and
Paul, the inspired apostle, had taught the same
truth. For Zoroaster, having discovered a dualism
in the moral world as well as in material nature,
believed Ahriman to be waging perpetual war with
Ormuzd for ascendency in the soul: and Paul, look-
ing into his own heart, wrote, ‘I find, therefore, a
law in my members, that when I would do good,
evil is present with me.”

|

—~

48 CROWNED AT ELIM.

And now the last child had chosen between a
gold angel and something else, and the tug of war
(representing the conflict) began. Trema's side was
the weaker, but by a dexterous movement she freed
herself, and, leaving the others in a heap on the
grass, went over to speak to the minister. She was
still angry, and it was a rare thing for Trema to be
vexed; but she was very sensitive. She hated of all
things to be seen in a position which would appear
to others ridiculous, and she was suspicious that he
had been listening all the time; that he had watched
them as they went round the mulberry bush, and
that he had listened as they sang, “What has this
poor robber done? My fair lady, 0.” So she stood
before him now, no longer timid or afraid, but with
her eyes glowing, her fair head loftily erect.

“No doubt you think it very foolish for girls as
large as Beth and I to play these games, but I think
we have a precedent in our foolishness—they were
played by Queen Elizabeth’s maids-of-honor.”

“Oh, you entirely mistake,” he answered hur-
riedly, the look of perplexity with which he had
regarded the hot red roses of her cheel < passing
away at her words. ‘You must not think that I
watched you from mere amusement or curiosity. It
was for quite another reason. Those games ** he
broke off suddenly, a gentleman was driving up to
the Manse; when he saw David McGlashan he
alighted. The minister, with a smile and a bow to
his discomfited young friend, said, “I'll explain some
other time,” and turned to greet his visitor.

Trema went back to her friends somewhat molli-
fied but not convinced. She took the girls to an

eubfgud

[bait Sidi i

, - ey

x (habit k ibe sa i alli SA cacha let St aber bitalnad Bezas

CROWNED AT ELIM. 49

arbor above which the grapes hung ripe and luscious,
and after partaking of some of the fruit Elsie pro-
posed that they have a game of forfeits. The game
progressed favorably till the forfeits were to be re-
deemed. Beth was kneeling on the floor of the
arbor, while Hilda stood holding a lace handkerchief
above her head. When the usual formula had been
repeated and the question came, ‘What has she to
do?” it would seem that Beth knew to whom the
forfeit belonged, for she smiled roguishly as she said:

“She has to go down to the cave and seek for
the hidden well.”

“Oh, what a penalty to redeem a forfeit!’ ex-
claimed Hilda. ‘The handkerchief is yours, Trema,
but I think Beth does not expect you to obey her
command.”

“TI will go if the others will go with me,” Trema
answered, without hesitation.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Certainly.”

‘But we were never in the cave in our lives.”

“Then it would be a novelty to go, would it
not?”’

Though Trema spoke so carelessly, she was
wondering if it were wise to go. She did not know
what the interior of the cave was like, and if the
girls were to get hurt she would be held responsible.
But ever since Mr. McGlashan had told her the story
of Falling Star, she had had a great desire to see the
cave. Finally, the girls said they would go. Trema
ran to the house for candles and matches, and they
set off.

They reached the spot below the cave safely, but

7

“Sahat neerese ssn saa ove tan ann est ne sent ons

50 CROWNED AT ELIM.

wondered how they would be able to climb up the
precipitous rock to the entrance. Trema, however,
was not to be daunted. She started up slowly,
placing her feet in small fissures of the cliff and
supporting herself by twigs and bushes which grew
in the crevices, till at length she reached a ledge
from which she helped the others to ascend. From
that point they had little difficulty in reaching the
entrance, where they found themselves in a small
square grotto which had a passage leading from it,
seemingly endless. There they timidly paused, for
behind them they had left the blue sky and the
September sunshine, while around them was the
gloom of death and the stillness of the sepulchre.
Each dreaded taking the first step into that silent,
dark tunnel. So they stood still and looked at one
another till Trema, who had been lighting her
candle and now noticed their timidity. teasingly
said:

‘T believe you are afraid to go; I will go back if
you choose.”

“Oh, no!” they all exclaimed. “If you will lead
the way, we will follow.”

Holding the lighted candle above her head,
Trema started down the gloomy avenue, singing
‘Nellie Grey,” that sweet song of the South. The
rocky passage had a peculiar carrying power. The
sweet strains of the pathetic little song went on, and
on, and on, till it ‘seemed as if all the gnomes, and
elves, and fairies of that mystic underworld had
caught up the strain and were carrying it into some
region faraway. Theneven Trema erew timid and
the song died upon her lips, for all those echoing

TwCTwTTC—EC—Eeeee

-

fal |
Badiisaaiad WaeSeeac ei isctionus |.

| Seneneeenenenernernanerernersersen

CROWNED AT ELIM. 51

cadences seemed to be human voices. Was it the
echo of her own song that she heard, or wasita
cithera touched by spirit fingers? Was it the light
of her candle pushing back the darkness which
caused these flitting shadows, or were ghostly
figures retreating into gloom at the approach of
human footsteps? The girls stood still; their faces
paled; they would advance no further; and it is
likely they would have beat a hasty retreat had
not Ruth Chudleigh surprised them by suddenly
exclaiming:

“See! here is another passage,’ and looking
into a small opening, which the larger girls had not
noticed, they saw that there was indeed a large
passage similar to the one in which they then were.

“Ruthie, Ruthie, come back!” called Trema, as
she saw the little girl with her lighted candle in her
hand, dart through the opening. But Ruthie was
not to be deterred. Wild with excitement at having
discovered a cave herself she sped on, not caring in
the least where she went; and though Trema fol-
lowed with all haste, she had not overtaken the
child when Ruthie suddenly fell forward and her
candle was extinguished. Trema saw with horror
that the spot into which Ruthie had fallen was a
still, black pool. With a ery of agony she darted
forward and reached the edge in time to grasp the
child before she sank again. She lifted the little one
in her arms and carried her back to the other pas-
sage, where the girls were Waiting, and who now
looked on with blanched faces at the dripping, still
form in Trema's arms; for Ruthie had swooned from
fright, though she was not otherwise hurt. It was

52 CROWNED AT ELIM.

a very silent procession that retraced its steps to the
cave entrance, for they must get Ruthie back to
Vinemount with all haste. And, as Trema said rue-
fully, their object had been accom plished—they had
found the well which had been font for one hundred
years; though Ruthie, poor child, had paid dearly
for the discovery.

How Trema got her burden safely down the cliff,
she could never afterwards understand. She only
remembered that her mind was filled with anguish
that she had allowed her curiosity to lead her into
such an escapade. That evening as Trema looked at
eae: sleeping so peacefully between warm blankets,

she shuddered when she thoveht how horribly ne

death the little one had been in the moment that he
knelt by the pool in that still, dark cavern. One
moment later and Ruthie would have entered upon
the mysterious, unknown life. Filled with these
serious thoughts, Trema wondered how she could
have displayed temper at the trivial incident in the
afternoon, and she smiled now when she recalled
David McGlashan’s look of wonder at her petulance.
It was only too evident that he did think her a mere
child, whose greatest pleasure consisted in going
round the mulberry bush.

CROWNED AT ELIM. 53

CHAPTER VI.

HE warm days of September were past—days
Tt in which it had been a joy to wander in the
woods behind the meadows of Vinemount,
and gather the luscious thimbleberries which grew in
the tangled undergrowth. And now October, too,
had passed—had just gone out in a blaze of golden
glory, and November had come in with a dispiriting
chilliness.

Casimir Zamoyski had been on business to
Brantford, and a cold autumn rain was falling as he
drove home. He felt the cold keenly and feared a
return of his distressing cough. Soon, however,
Vinemount came into view and he looked forward
with pleasure to an evening in his warm cosy
library. When he had reached home and changed
his damp clothing, he went to look for Trema. He
found her in the library, curled up in the window-
seat and strainin + her eyes over the sad fate of the
“Fair Maid of Perth.”

‘““My daughter,” he said, “will you just run
over to the Manse and ask Mr. McGlashan for his
‘Geschichte der Griechischen Literatur’ ?”’

‘And beard the lion in his den, the Douglas in
his hall,’’’ quoted Trema. ‘*Pather, what makes
you read books with such unpronounceable titles ?

io
He

; be re
H

pr onanpo erenaatenartaneeee

54 CROWNED AT ELIM

It’s raining, too, but I will get my cloak; won't vou
please write down the name, for I will not under.
take to carry it in my head across the lawn to the
Manse?”

‘“* Geschichte der Griechischen Literatur.’ Why,
child, it is very simple, and you pronounce Polish
words, which are more difficult, quite fluently,”

“Polish! Why, that is the language of the
Fatherland and not to be compared for a moment

vith the uncouth German. Well, never mind, I'll
try to make him understand,”

Trema, who was usually so self- possessed, found
herself growing nervous when the trim little maid
ushered her into the spacious, stately library. This
room was David McGlashan’s special pride. All
things which he treasured were to be found within
its walls. His beloved books were there—row upon
row of them, reaching almost to the ceiling; faces of
dear ones looked down from the walls; treasured
mementces of college days were in the cabinets, and
quaint pieces of furniture were strewn about. telling
silently of vanished days in the dear Scottish home,

jut a stranger would not care for the intrinsic value

of these thin What impressed Trema was, that
in its peculiar appointments it seemed to partake of
the nature of its owner. She noticed this before she

saw the minister rising out of the shadows at the
further end of the room. In one swift glance she
had noticed the ceiling of polished oak, the rows of
tempting octavoes, the rich cabinets, the graceful
statuary, and, in strange contrast, the rude uncouth
fireplace, almost flaunting its rustic solidity amid
this polished elegance. The fire-place was built of

CROWNED AT ELIM 55

veo

rough stone: a slab of stone formed the mantel;
oblong stones supported the blazing logs of oak and
maple; while around it were grouped the quaint
tables and chairs. In close proximity was a stone
stairway leading—whither? Did this odd corner
conjure up memories of bygone days? The bright

eyes noted each detail and came back to the face of

the minister, who was extending his hand in greet-
ing, with no trace of inquisitive wonder in their
blue depths.

‘Father wishes to know if you will Jend him a
work on Grecian literature? It is by Schoell, I
think,”’ Trema said, finding her tongue as he led her
to a chair by the fire.

“With pleasure. I have two works by the same
author, but ‘Geschichte der Griechischen Literatur’
was the one your father was speaking of. Would
you like to take a look over my books? Those
shelves are wholly devoted to theological works,
perhaps you would not find them interesting; next
to them are biography and history. Close to the
fire-place are my poets, but here, near the window,
are books to interest you. Those above are Greek,
Italian, and early English romance, and lower down,
modern fiction.”’

‘Modern fiction! I thought ministers were not
supposed to read anything but theology.”

“Did you?” looking gravely serious. “I wonder
if my congregation think so, too, for characters from
fiction sometimes suggest illustrations for my ser-
mons. History deals more with people in the mass,
even its individuals we see only in a public light. It
takes no account of the inward mind of map ; of the

ee

“AARNE Ie pis) a net 2 ea!

56 CROWNED AT ELIM.

vital struggles of a soul in its sorrows and dis-
appointments, its aspirations and weaknesses, its
errors and sacrifices. And then, as some one has
said, history does not give us the success of things
according to merit, while fiction does; it presents us
with the fates and fortunes of persons rewarded or
punished according to merit.”

The minister, while speaking, had turned and
was looking absently out of the window; he seemed
to be speaking more to himself than to his visitor.
He stopped abruptly. Were not such thoughts be-
yond the comprehension of a young girl? Turning
towards her, he found that she was looking up at
him with a face of interested attention.

‘Yes,’ she answered shyly. ‘ Fiction certainly
has advantages not only over other forms of writing,
but over the other fine arts, for architecture must
have space to express i s thought; sculpture has but
one moment of time in which to tell its story; paint-
ing is able to tell more through perspective, while
music can only suggest; but the author is able to
produce the illusion that weare actually living in the
scenes which he describes. We do not even study his
characters from a distance—we live with them, weep
and rejoice with them. But do you not think that
the poet has more interest in the progress of the soul;
that he gives the human spirit more complete ex-
pression because his view is from a higher plane? A
poet living in the Golden Age would be able to write

only a romance; ease does not make poetry. I
mean——”’ lifting her eyes to his face; “I mean——”

stopping in utter confusion at the rapt wonder
written there. ‘I'm afraid I can’t explain what I

CROWNED AT ELIM. 57

mean,’

she added falteringly. What would he think
of her airing her theories to him who was so learned?

* Yes, I think I understand you,” he said gently;
turning his eyes from that blushing downcast face
to the window, where he was apparently engrossed
in the clouds of the west, which were breaking a
little and allowing a bit of sun to peer through.
“You mean that if there were no sorrow in the
world, we might have a pastoral of the style of
Daphnis and Chloe, but would have no poetry; for
the poet, while he lives among the commonplaces of
‘arth and while his soul is all a-quiver with life’s
agonies, is yet able to rise through imagination into
the rarified air of the ideal. To the commonplaces
which he describes, he always adds that which he
alone sees; that somethi.,, is his ideal and forms
the standard for weaker mortals to follow. Yet
these visions of the ideal which the poet seeks and
finds for us, are but the glimmerings of divine reveal-
ings yet to be made. I think we should always
remember that.”

As he finished speaking, the sky grew brighter,
the clouds were banks of crimson: the flaming
scarlet glinted on the windows of the far-off cot.
tages; it massed itself against the rocky cliffs and
dripping cedars, and touched the faces of the two
spectators at the window, giving them a beauty
almost divine. Then sudderly the sun disappeared
behind the wooded hill, th crimson shades changed
to oranye, then faded to taintest amber and paled
again till only gray was left.

“IT must go now,” Trema said softly ; the power

f that gorgeous sunset was still upon them.

58 CROWNED AT ELIM.

“Must you go?" he asked regretfully, turning
from the window. “I do not have visitors very
otten, and I have enjoyed your short call more than
I can say.”

The minister showed his visitor to the door and
then returned to his library, though he did not again
take up the work in which he had been interrupted,
but sat before the fire, resting his elbows on the
arms of his chair and crossing hishands in unwonted
idleness. The room was rapidly growing dark, save
where the firelight flickered and fell on the objects
around. Yet when the maid brought the lights, he
told her that he did not require lights just then, and
Jeanie went to the housekeeper, saying that the
minister could not be well, for he sat in the dark
before the fire, hand-idle.

Certainly, Trema Zamoyski’s visit had strangely
disquieted the young man. He could not rid himself
of the idea that he had known her before—that in
some yesterday of life they had been friends and
were now only renewing that friendship. It must
be that she reminded him of Bess, the sister he had
lost. When he thought of Bess, old friends came
trooping back and half-forgotten scenes appeared as
if limned in the blaze before him. There is his simple
Seottish home, where luxury was never known;
there, too, is his father, who with infinite patience
taught his boy from his limited store of knowledge;
and there is Bess—his confidante. It was only to
Bess that he had told of his longing to be an artist:
that was the goal at which he aimed: that thought
was the center of all his dreams. What air-casiles
they had built together—he and Bess! When the

CROWNED AT ELIM. 59

dream was no longer a dream—when the desire had
become a reality, he would paint Bess with all that
glory of golden hair and with velvet robes falling
about her, and she would look just like a beautiful

princess. The minister smiles when he thinks of

those childish dreams, but instantly the smile is
g ue, for he recalls the day when the house was so
strangely quiet and he wondered that the sun could
shine as brightly as on other days, for the lid of the
coffin is screwed down and his father’s face shut
away from him forever. And after the funeral, there
is his mother sitting so pale and tearless, and when
her tall handsome son tries to encourage her with
his many plans, she smiles, though with quivering
lip, at the happy confidence of fifteen years. Monot-
onous days follow; days filled only with a dull
routine of office duties; days made bitter by a
thirst for knowledge and no hope of that thirst's
assuaging.

And now comes that morning when he saw his
employer’s horses dashing madly down the street,
and dragging the carriage (in which a little child
sat alone) recklessly after them. He had caught
the horses in time to prevent a collision with an
omnibus, but he himself had been thrown to the
pavement.

But now the calm meditative expression gives
place to one of pain, for even after all these years
have passed, that moment of supreme anguish comes
back with tragic vividness—that moment when he
returned to consciousness, and heard the doctor tell-
ing the nurse that his back was hurt and he would
probably be deformed. How apparently aimless in

Srnec a sree

Tt Se
~ tn ihn aagtan
eerrere oer rrsecess

SE a er

scutes ares

60 CROWNED AT ELIM.

its cruelty had been that visitation of disaster. For
weeks he lay with that mental trouble outw eighing
all his physical agony, and then the clouds parted
so quickly that he doubted the brilliance of the ray
that shone through. His employer visited him, and
out of gratitude for the heroic act that had saved
his little son's life, supplied him with money sufficient
for a college education and more than enough to
take a course in art on the Continent.

With joy came strength. His waiting was over;
his dream would at last be fulfilled. He felt the
thrill of genius and knew he would succeed. The
long-sought distant goal was within sight; already
he saw Fame standing at his elbow and felt the
touch of the laurel upon his brow. He went to
college. Some of the boys called him hunchb:z ack,
but he did not care; so long as he had a brain to
think and hands to work, he cared not. Some day
he knew that the misty forms of cloud-land would
assume definite shapes; that the visions of his
brain would be wrought out in ideals of strength
and loveliness.

The minister paused in his reverie. He picked up
the tongs and poked the coals; he preferred that the
chain of thought should be broken, but memory
rushed heedlessly on.

It was at a meeting in a little church that the
changecame. He had gone with some of the stu-
dents to hear the preacher because he was eccentric
and some of the students found his style amusing.
And David McGlashan, though he believed himself
to be a Christian, went to hear the minister out of
mere curiosity. The earnest words awakened his

CROWNED AT ELIA. 61

conscience, and from that hour he felt himself called
to preach theGospel. Of all the extremities in which
he had imagined he might be placed, he had never
thought of that. He tried to put the duty from
him; all his dreams, all the desires of his heart rose
in revolt against entering the ministry. He opened
his Bible to see if he might find guidance there. and
his eyes caught the phrase: ‘ Woe is me if I preach
not the Gospel.’’ Then he knew he would never find
peace in any other sphere, and he put aside all his
youthful dreams and entered the University of St.
Andrew's. But though he had obeyed the divine
voice, yet the warfare in his heart was not ended.
During his entire theological course, there were times
when he longed to return to the career he had first
chosen. To another, art would have been a noble
calling, urging him away from the frivolities of
sarth to the region of ideals and lofty aspirations—
to high fields of thought and action. But having
heard the Divine call, he felt that art was to him
now but the voice of the tempter luring him to ruin.

The time came when he was to be ordained.
And now when he should have given himself up with
the fullest renunciation, he experienced the fiercest
conflict of his soul. He walked to the church as in
adream; he felt that he must even yet fling aside
this duty, even though with it he should throw
away all hope of his soul’s salvation. Fame beck-
oned him, ambition urged him on. He longed to go
to the countries made sacred by art, to there hold
communion with the great spirits of the past; to
look on St. Peter’s at Rome; to study the frescoes
of the Sistine Chapel; to visit Florence where the

tae ee

62 CROWNED AT ELIM.

very air is pervaded with the presence and memory
of Michel Angelo—all the old charm was again upon
him. Insuch a mood he entered the church and the
service began. He longed to put anend toit; to
cry out that he would not be a minister; but some
power within kept him silent. Other voices seemed
to be blending with that of the minister who w; s
speaking; his brain became confused: phanton
Spectres passed before him; celestial beings were set
in armed array against the legionary hosts of outer
darkness and weve battling for his soul,

Then suddenly in the midst of that deadly conflict
he had cried ‘Lord, save me! I perish!” and instantly
the turmoil of his brain ceased; a gleam of light
shone through the darkness of his despair, and he
had a vision of Him who is uncreated and eternal.
Self sank out of view; ambition was naught. In
that moment of divine exaltation he seemed to
belong to no age or country; he was conscious only
of the great dignity which was ordained for man
when dawn first broke upon the earth; ‘“when the
morning stars sang together and all the sons of God
shouted for joy.” And then he saw man’s guilt and
fall, and his soul bowed in deep contrition before the
Ineffable who had redeemed him and had allowed
him to become an instrument to bring other wan-
derers home. Then in the moment of hushed silence,
when he bowed before the ministers and they placed
their hands upon his head, he heard Jehovah saying
to him as He had said to the prophets of old, ‘‘O son
of man, I have set thee a watchman unto the house
of Israel.” ‘Behold I have made thee this day a
defenced city.” ‘Neglect not the gift that is in thee,

CROWNED AT ELIM. 63

which was given thee by prophecy.”’ ‘“‘ They that be
wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament,
and they that turn many to righteousness as the
stars forever and ever.’"”. When David McGlashan
rose to his feet the conflict was ended.

Again the minister paused in his reverie. Could
it be that that youth with his soul on fire for art,
who had given up his chosen calling with such a
struggle, was he—David McGlashan of Riverside?
A long road lay between the youthful zealot and the
grave minister—long, not in years but in experiences.
First of all, he had not been long permitted to remain
on Pisgah’s height from which, on his ordination
day, he had caught those vivid glimpses of the Holy
City. He was called to come down from that high
vantage point of vision to the arena of life where
those lofty and exhilarati 2 feelings were to be re-
placed by the faithful and patient performance of
duty.

The people of Riverside, having heard through
friends at home of the young minister’s earnest
work, gave him a call, and he came to Canada bring-
ing Bess with him—(their mother had been laid at
rest some years before). The people of Riverside
were not disappointed in the pastor they had chosen,
while the minister was pleased with his charge.
Everything was going along satisfactorily; he and
Bess were just comfortably settled in their cosy
cottage when a new trial awaited him. He had
been called one night to the bedside of a dying
parishioner and Bess, ever anxious for his comfort,
left a candle burning on a table not far from the
window, that there might be light when he returned.

is bi ascent ty

eet ene
aha ey
crore panes socherdians~ ame

Stearns aarnnete tt afer twostrener---~-Saasiirenvessntit sone rayse

4 CROWNED AT ELIM.

The window was open, and the curtain swaying
back and forth in the breeze caught the flame. When
he returned, he opened the door and stood for a
moment motionless with horror; the whole interior
of their cottage was in ablaze. He sprang to the
room where Bess slept and lifting her in her death-
like sleep carried her outside, but he was too late;
she never regained consciousness. It was hours be-
fore he knew that he himself was burned, and the
scars on his face remained as witnesses of that tragic
night. He thought of those scars now with a re-
gretful smile. He had loved beauty as on'y his
artist soul could love it, but physical beauty had
not the same charm for him now that it once had.
He knew there was a beauty which no accident could
mar—a beauty wrought from the loom of a conse-
crated life, and which alone was worth striving for,

His sister’s death had been a most cruel blow.
He never realized until she was gone how much he
had depended on her companionship. There were
depths in his nature which were unsuspected by any-
one save Bess. His sensitive nature instinctively
shrank from disclosing his innermost self to un-
appreciative friends; to her he could always open
his heart freely, for he was sure of comprehension
and sympathy there. He did not, however, tabulate
his griefs in this way, for he was not given to pitying
self-analysis. He was conscious only that there was
a void in his life which could never again be filled,
and the loneliness was at times alnost unbearable.

He was roused from his reverie by the striking of
the clock. Ten o’clock? What a time he had been
dreaming by the fire! He must not sit thus idly

CROWNED AT ELIM. 65

dreaming. He had work to do, and it was time he
was about it. Outside, the rain was again falling
with a monotonous patter against the windows, but
it was time he was off. The baseball team would be
returning shortly from York, and he must not let
Leyden Bell go with the boys to the Red Lion. Ina
moment he was out in the rain and darkness. It
was doubtless a good thing for David McGlashan
that he felt it his duty to share the burdens of others,
for it kept him from brooding over his own troubles.

To-night, however, as he stood in the rain, the
lights which streamed from the windows of Vine-
mount filled his heart with a strange, new happiness.
Out there in the chilling rain, he was living over
again those moments in the twilight when he and
Trema had stood together in the sunset glow. But
just then the rumble of the stagecoach broke in upon
his meditations. The boys were proclaiming to
Riverside residents, in no uncertain voice, that they
were returning victorious. Leyden Bell was the
first to jump from the stage.

“Hurrah for the Junior Tigers!’’ he yelled. Then
when he noticed his pastor, ‘‘Oh, Mr. McGlashan,
we vanquished the Royalists. It was a great game.
Seventeen hits, including two doubles, three triples,
and a home run was our work. The Royalists only
secured four singles.”’

“Tm glad the Junior Tigers won; but, Leyden,
do not go with the boys to the Red Lion to-night."

‘Oh, Mr. McGlashan, I must! The boys will
have it that it was my fielding that ended the game
in such a brilliant way for us. The Royalists treated
us right handsomely, and Captain Blake sent word

oo

al

66 CROWNED AT ELIM.

to have an oyster supper ready for us when we got
back to Riverside, and the boys won't like it if I
don't go.”

In the meantime the coach was emptied of its
noisy freight, and the boys were rushing pell mell
along the street. ‘‘Come on, Leyd,’’ they called,
as they saw him still talking. The minister laid a
detaining hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘ Leyden,
remember your promise.”’

“Oh, I do remember; but I must break it just
this once. After to-night I promise you I will never
touch liquor again,’’ saying which, he joined his
companions and left his pastor standing there.

David McGlashan turned homeward with a
heavy heart. If he could only depend on Leyden.
But now that he had broken his promise, he would
likely break it again. As the minister walked along
the muddy road and up the avenue under the dripping
trees, he was tempted to give up his self-imposed task
and let the boy go to ruin if he wanted to.

For four years he had watched over Leyden Bell,
trying to keep him out of harm's way, and notwith-
standing all his efforts, the boy was going headlong
toruin. After all, why should he care? Was he
more responsible than Donald Bell, who, under the
pressure of business cares, did not seem to have time
to look after his son? In such a mood, he took
off his wet coat, and sat down to read a little
before retiring. But he could settle his thoughts on
nothing, for, notwithstanding his decision, he was
again worrying about the boy; for he loved the
handsome, sunny tempered lad, and could not stand
by and see him become a hopeless drunkard.

oad

CROWNED AT ELIM. 67

But was there any hope of a boy who had learned
to like liquor at twelve years of age? It was alittle
over four years ago, that he had found Leyden with
some Other boys sitting on the grass near the brew-
ery drinking beer. What a revelationthat had been!
He was a.most a stranger in Riverside then, and had
admired the rambling old building encircled witha
wide stretch of smooth, green sward, and silhouetted
against a background of forest trees, then clothed in
tender green. Its position in that picturesque spot
seemed to indicate that the building had been de-
signed for a nobler work than the brewing of malt.

But David McGlashan, wholly engrossed in pic-
turesque effects, gave little thought to what was
going On within its walls till the day he came upon
the boys with the pail of beer before them. He then
discovered that the picturesque old building was the
worm in the ship’s keel, which was slowly but
certainly working the destruction of those who
trusted their lives to the craft. This, Riverside would
awake to see when too late, for the youth of the
town were taking their first steps in the downward
path which has only one ending. Liquor was given
them at the brewery freely as water; they might
have it any time for the asking; yes, and without
the asking. {t had become customary for the boys
to loiter along the river bank on their way from
school, slip into the building and get the beer, which
was never refused them, and then continue their
way, all unconscious that invisible chains were being
forged about them which would one day resist even
a giant’s strength.

The minister had been pained beyond measure to

68 CROWNED AT ELIM

find Leyden Bell among those boys. He was such a
bright boy, so clever and so promising; in his beau-
tiful brown eyes the sunshine seemed always to be
sleeping, and his dark hair clustered in curls over a
forehead as white as snow.

It was about this time that another incident
occurred, which strengthened David McGlashan’s
resolve to give his whole effort to putting down in-
temperance. He was one morning returning from
the country when he saw a little child lying by the
road, apparently overcome by the heat. He jumped
hastily from the carriage and lifted the child in his
arms. ‘Why, it’s Robbie Strachan!" he cried, and
then suddenly turned pale with horror, for fumes of
liquor came from those baby tips.

He placed the child in the carriage and drove him
home. The servant, greatly excited, met them at the
gate. Mrs. Strachan was visiting at Caledonia,
and Robbie had gone away without his breakfast.
The servant had searched everywhere, and was
almost distracted with grief as she thought that he
had fallen into the river. She was greatly relieved,
therefore, when she saw the minister with her little
charge in his arms, and she ran at once for Dr.
Blair. The doctor came almost immediately, and
as they bent anxiously over the child, David Me-
Glashan asked:

“How do you suppose Robbie came to be in a
state like this?”’

‘Tt is hard to say,” replied the doctor. “ Pro-
bably one of the men at the brewery gave him a
drink for fun, and as ne had had no breakfast it made
him very ill.”

CROWNED AT ELIM, 69

“The wretches! They should be arrested. Is it

possible such things can be in beautiful Riverside?”

The doctor laughed lightly. ‘Such things not
only can be, but have been, and will continue to be.”’

“Not if I can help it.”’

“IT do not see what you can do.”

“T shall have the brewery closed.”

“But that will be taking away people’s liberty.
This is a free country, and if a man wants toruna
brewery no one may say him nay.”

‘Then I shall petition the government to close
es

“That would be little use, you see, for this is only
one out of many breweries in Canada. Moreover,
there always has been liquor in the world, and pro-
bably always will be, and boys and other people,
too, must learn to resist such things. If they are
taught self-control, such evils will not hurt them.
You cannot legislate people into being Christians,
you know.”

‘“ Legislation certainly cannot change the heart,
but it can do much to raise the morality of the
nation.”’

The doctor looked politely incredulous.

“It has been said from close observation,” con-
tinued the minister, “‘that people are the product of
their environment, and it depends a good deal on
our legislation to say what that environment shall
be. It is impossible to be surrounded by vice and
remain untainted. Humanity is a vast nervous sys-
tem; a festerec sore in any part will affect the health
of all around. If we live in the midst of a loathsome
moral miasma, we cannot escape infection. But,

70 CROWNED AT ELIM.

happily, goodness is just as potent a factor in society
as evil. And, Dr. Blair, 1 sha! never cease while I
have strength to root out chis evil of intemperance,
and if I grow weary in the task the memory of this
baby lying unconscious in a drunken sleep will, I am
Sure, nerve me to renewed effort.”’

“But this is an uncommon case,’’ said the
doctor, ‘I never before saw a child under the in-
fluence of liquor, and such a thing may not occur
again in the history of the town.”

“That the evil goes stalking about ready to
devour the innocent, is incentive enough to work
for its destruction.”

The minister had left then and szid he would call
later in the day. It was nearly fve o’clock when he
was free to go; he found the child stil] sleeping, but
he wakened in a few minutes and looked wonderingly
at his visitor.

“You were sick, Robbie, and I came to see you.
I hope you feel better now?”

“Was I sick? What day is it? Is the twenty-
fourth over?”

“No, the twenty-fourth is to-morrow.”

“Oh, I's so glad... Then sighing heavily, “ But
we didn’t get any pennies for fi’a-crackers, Johnuie
an’ me didn’t.”

“Did you try to get some?”

“Yes. Johnnie said if we picked up bones an’
pieces of old iron an’ took them to Isaacs, he would
give us pennies. An’ we worked an’ worked till we
got a big lot an’ piled them on my little cart, an’
then we got up early, ’cause Johnnie said Isaacs
would be away if we were late; and I came down

CROWNED AT ELIM. 71

the stairs so quiet ’cause Kate wouldn’t let me go,
p’obably. An’ oh, my cart was heavy. I was so
ti’ed, and it was so far ova there, you know where"
(wearily waving his little hand in the direction, as
if a more lucid explanation were too great an effort)
‘an’ then old Isaacs said he couldn’t give us pennies,
‘cause we didn’t have enough bones an’ iron, but he
would give us something to dwink. Johnnie only
tasted his, but I dwank all mine. I wanted my
breakfus’ awful bad.”

‘And then you got sleepy ?”’

“Yes. Johnnie was cwying ’cause old Isaacs
didn’t give us pennies, an’ I told hm to go home an’
I would just lie down on the grass a little while.”

‘Poor little fellow! No wonder you were ill.
Well, here are some pennies that the old Jew should
have given you.”

Robbie opened his blue eyes wide. ‘Did Isaacs
give them to you for us?”

‘‘No, but Iam sorry to see you so disappointed.”

“But Mr. ’Glashan, you didn’t get the pieces of
iron an’ bones.”

“Oh, I see! You want to give something in ex-
change for the pennies. Well, my lawn is just about
yellow with dandelions, and you and Johnnie may
pick them for the pennies. Is that a bargain?”

“Oh yes, an’ won't Johnnie be glad! I'd like to
gonow.” Hesat up eagerly, but lay back almost
immediately. ‘‘Oh,1 is so w’etched,” he said wearily.
‘Please, Mr.’Glashan, give these pennies to Johnnie.
He will pick the dandelions; my mama will be home
to-morrow an’ she has lots of pennies, but Johnnie’s
mama hasn’t any. That was why he cwied.”

CROWNED AT ELIM.

“Allright. I'll hunt Johnnie up and give him
the pennies and tell him about the dandelions. I
hope you will be better in the morning and that you
will have a real good time on the Queen's Birthday.
I expect that you will break all the glass in the
windows to-morrow with your firecrackers.”’

“So it wasn’t the brewery after all that was the
‘ause of the mischief,’ tle minister mused as he
walked homeward. ‘“ Well, it is only another of the
monster’s kin, appearing in the form of that old
Isaacs. The rascal! To pay the little fellows in
Satan’s own coin. And yet, poor old man, I do not
suppose he realized what he was doing. Miserliness
is the curse of his nation. What a noble little fellow
Robbie is. Pathetic as it was, his description of the
affair nearly made me laugh. The way he said ‘I is
so w’etched,’ was almost too much for my gravity.”

It was these two incidents in particular, and
several things in general, that caused David Me-
Glashan at the very beginning of his ministerial
career to become a zealous advocate for the cause
of temperance. In a measure, his work had met
with success. A number of the boys were not ouly
temperate, but shared in the enthusiasm of their
leader, and thes boys were the majority, but in
the minority was Leyden Bell. Four years of un-
ceasing effort, and Leyden that November night
was not one step forward oa the path of reform.
He was, indeed, worse than at the beginning; for
there was his bruken promise, which he had given
so earnestly a month before, that he would never
again touch intoxicating liquor. No wonder his

pastor was discouraged. Discouraged he certainly

CROWNED AT ELIM., 73

was, but not yet would he give Leyden up. Sotwo
hours later he might have been seen again finding
his wey through the gloomy night. The rain had
turned to snow and already the dripping world was
changing to a spotless whiteness. The village was
as silent as a city of the dead; from the Red Lion
alone lights gleamed. And to the Red Liow David
McGlashan went. The inn was not large and he had
no diff: it - in finding his way to the room where
supper had been served. Without hesitation he
opened the door and passed within. As the evil
spirits in the dread Circle* were smitten into silence
by the coming of the Messenger of Heaven, so were
the carcusers abashed by the unexpected appearance
of the minister. The loud laugh was hushed: the
song died upon their lips. Was it the minister, or
was it St. Michael who confronted them, so tall and
pale and stern? St. Michael it must be, for so much
of majesty does not cling about a mere man.

The intruder looked in silence on the many
bottles, the filled glasses, on all the evidences of
the midnight revel, and then the stern eyes went
down the length of the room seeking something
which they did not find; then back again witha
keen glance into each flushed face. He must be
there; yes, and he was there. With swift strides
the minister reached that vacant chair, by which
Leyden was lying overcome by his libations.

“Leyden, Leyden, my boy!” Infinitely tender
were the words, and yet they found their way
through the dulled consciousness of the lad. He
stirred, sud murmured something unintelligible.

‘Leyden, you must go home.” He raised the

***Dante’s Inferno.” Canto 1X.,11, 104-106.

74 CROWNED AT ELIM.

boy gently and stood him upon his feet; helped him
to the door, and out into the night,

When the door closed the young men sat mute
and still, for each had read in that grave, stern gaze
that he had been weighed in a balance and had been
found wanting. Their consciences told them that
the verdict was true, for not only had they them-
selves fallen short of a worthy manhood, but each
had taken a malicious delight in bringing about the
downfall of Leyden Bell. The minister's efforts had
not escaped their notice, and in proportion as he had
worked to save the boy, they had planned to bring
about his ruin. But now, in the presence of that
man of power, each realized how contemptible his
conduct had been, and many resolves were made
that night to lead better lives,

Meanwhile, the minister was helping his charge
through the snow, and weary work it was, though
his thoughts were too busy for him to realize his
fatigue.

Poor Mrs. Bell! How he dreaded the mother to
see her boy in that awful state of helpless drunken-
ness. Yet she would have to know: she had been in
ignorance long enough.

A light was burning in the house. Some one was
vaiting for Leyden’s return and opened the door
before the minister reached it; it was Mrs. Bell. Her
lips parted in startled surprise when she saw them,
but no question came. In that brief glance she
seemed to understand it all. Very quietly she led
the way to the sitting room, where David Me-
Glashan placed the boy on a couch. He spoke to
the mother in a hushed way, for the solemnity of

CROWNED AT ELIM. 75

death seemed to enfold her. He tried to lighten her
sorrow, to give her hope that Leyden would yet
fulfil her expectations; but even as he spoke he
felt how fruitless were his efforts, for he himself was
hopeless. She thanked him in a few grateful words,
anc even ‘ried to smile when she parted with him at
the door, though the look of unspeakable anguish
never left her dark eyes.

When she returned to the sitting room, she
brourht a plaid and laid it over her boy. I: was
that very afternoon that she had folded it and laid
it away. She remembered that she had been singing
in very gladness of heart as she did it. Was the
afternoon separated from her by hours or by years?
It seemed years, and that she had already grown
old. Was it really Leyden who was lying in that
awful state, or was she dreaming? If she made
a violent effort, would she not be able to shake
off the numbness which seemed paralyzing her, and
find that it was only a dream? Alas! it was no
dream.

And yet it did not seem long since he had one
day toddled up to her with a book almost as big as
himself, and said, ‘Here is the Bible; read to me
about Jesus.’’ And she, thinking the biblical account
unintelligible to a child of three years, attempted to
tell him the story in her own way, and he had lis-
tened with attention till he found hereyes wandering
from the printed page and then he said indignantly,
“You is not reading it at all, you is making it up,”
whereupon he had emphatically closed the book and
asked her to tell him the story of the little leaf. And
she had told him of a tiny leaf that had come out

76 CROWNED AT ELIM.

one morning shivering in the spring wind, and clung
timidly to the branch, till the branch whispered,
“Don't be afraid, little leaf, the wind won't hurt
you, and some day it will take you on a pleasant
journey.” The leaf grew large and beautiful,
and after a while Jack Frost gave it a pretty new
red dress; then one day the wind came and carried
it straight across a big garden to a veranda where
a sick child was lying, and he put out his hands and
caught the leaf, erying gleefully, “Oh, mother, see the
beautiful leaf!"’ And all day long he held it in his
little hot hand, and at night he went to sleep with
the leaf pressed against his cheek. After a long
silence, Leyden had said, “ Yes,” as if the story were
satisfactory; ‘‘tell me more about the little boy.”
And she could feel the pressure of his arms around
her neck even yet, as he told her, when she had fin-
ished, that it was a nice story. But her baby was
gone and in his place was a boy, a young man, lying
there—like that! The contrast was too painful; she
turned away with a shudder; tears gathered in her
eyes and relief came to her pent-up heart.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER VII.

HE morning after her errand to the manse,
Trema awoke with a start, and was for a
brief moment surprised to find herself in her

own room at home, for she had had a very vivid
dream. Memory had taken her to Lucerue and she
was at the very foot of rugged old Pilatus, when she
noticed David McGlashan far up the mountain path.
He had beckoned to her to come up, and had held
out his hand to assist her as she drew near. Then
together they had climbed to where flowers were
blooming, when suddenly, without a moment's
warning, an avalanche of snow had swept upon
them, hurling them down a precipice. Just then she
awoke, and even to her waking senses there seemed
to be a warm heaviness in the air as there had been
inher dream. She went to the window and sure
enough there had beet an avalanche in the night,
though quite different from that in her dream. For
the snow clung to the damp fences and the walls of
buildings; it heaped its fairy whiteness on the trees
and shrubs in lavish profusion; it curled softly
around the eaves of houses and changed every un-
sightly thing and every irregular outline into round.
ed graceful beauty. The lawn seemed fit only for
the abode of fairies. Its entire length presented a

78 CROWNED AT ELIM.

vista of fantastic shapes such as were never con-
ceived by the mind of man. Nature alone is capable
of such intricacy of design. Each branch freighted
with its spotless burden drooped gracefully to the
earth, while the vines which yesterday hung so dis-
consolately in a tangled mass, now seemed a delicate
intricate pattern of softest lacework. Not a breath
of wind stirred. It was as if Nature exhausted with
her exertions, was now taking her repose.

“What a pity the fairies alone might inhabit
such a beautiful spot,’ she said at last. ‘‘Man will
only marit. First thing, Thomas will be shovelling
off the steps and digging a road out to the gate. I
suppose, too, he will think it his bounden duty to
tramp around to all the trees and shake the snow
off the branches, lest they break. Such is the life of
morte's! And then there are the boys who will
delight in this beautiful snow just because it is of
the right consistency to make a good snow man.
And it will be fine for that,” she added, a little wist-
fully. She felt at that moment that it was an incon-
venient thing to be looked upon as grown up, when
her heart still clung to the pleasures of the short
dress period.

A few hours later, she might have been seen
perched on a pyramid of sleds, and putting the finish-
ing touches to a very artistic nose on a newly-.aade
snow man. She had watched the operations of
some boys with keen interest, till their lack of artistic
skill overcame her sense of dignity, and she begged
permission to join them. She was patting the head
here and there, and trying to give it an air of
majesty (which was the characteristic feature of the

CROWNED AT ELIM. 79

busts in her father’s library) when she heard the
jingle of sleigh bells, and turned to see Mr.
McGlashan driving along the road towards them.
She recognized him with a sense of dismay. Was he
going to see her in every undignified action of her
life, while the many dignified things which she did
never were seen ?

To retreat was impossible, so she gave the chin
an extra jab to increase its firmness (she always ad-
mnired firmness in the chin of a statesman, and it was
a statesman she was modeling) and trusted to the
Fates from being discovered; but those were keen
eyes in that rapidly approaching sleigh. Afar off
David McGlashan had detected that golden brown
curly hair, on which the toboggan cap rested so
jauntily. If he would only cross the bridge; if he
would only go anywhere but home just now, she
would be very glad; but there was no escape. Not
only was he going to see her, but evidently he was
going to speak to her.

When she saw him reining in his horse prepara-
tory to alighting, she began dubiously to descend
from her perch, coming down much more deliberately
than she had ascended. There were still two sleds
between her and the ground when the minister
reached the snow man, and catching the hands of
the amateur sculptor, he lifted her lightly to the
ground. This did not lessen the roses in her cheeks
and, to add to her confusion, she saw that something
was amusing him. Was this boyish face with the
laughing eyes the same grave one with which she
was familiar? It was at least one of his boyish
moments, when the burden of work was forgotten,

80 CROWNED AT ELIM.

and he would have enjoyed nothing better than to
help her in her task and be ordered about by her
as he had seen her order the boys, when she was
queening it there on top of the pyramid. But such
actions would not be seemly in the minister of the
kirk, so he turned to the matter he had in hand.

‘Mistress Cairns tells me that you are going to
see them this afternoon, Miss Trema.”

‘So I promised, but father is quite ill this morn-
ing. He got wet yesterday coming from Brantford.”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear from Thomas that he
was suffering from a relapse of his cold. But I am
going to Greenvale this afternoon, and as I pass
Willow Bank I could take you if you wish to go.”

“Oh, thank you!’’ Trema exclaimed delightedly,
‘Come in and see mother about it." So it was
satisfactorily arranged, and at three o'clock they
set off.

It was a delightful day for driving, and Trema’s
face was all aglow as she told the minister that it
was her first sleigh ride in the country.

“Then I hope it will be a pleasant one,” he re-
plied; “for you do not have much to rary the mon-
otony of your life here. You must find the country
a very great change from the city. I suppose you
prefer the town to this quiet country life.”’

“Oh, I have not grown tired of the country yet,”
she replied. ‘It is all so new to me. I love the
woods. I love to sit under the trees and watch the
shadows on the grass, when the leaves whisper
strange stories, and where nothing but the streamlet
seems to be in a hurry. It is delightful. But I
do miss my city friends. There was my venerable

CROWNED AT ELIM. 81

Professor who was our neighbor, and gave me the full
freedom of his library. Often when he returned from
lectures, he would find me curled up in his favorite
chair and poring over some dusty tome, which he
world aver was too dry for any but spectacled
peop.* to read. Yes, I miss him and the other city
friends very much.”

‘But you seem to enjoy yourself here. You like
visiting at Willow Bank, do you not?”

‘Oh, I cannot tell you how I love to go there, I
should be very lonely if it were not for the Cairns
family.”

“And the other farms where you often go to
spend the afternoon, what about them?”

‘Well, to tell the truth, ‘spending the afternoon,’
though it sounds pleasant enough, is the greatest
bore I have, and yet the people are so kind, When
they invite you to go for the afternoon, they expect
you to be there at three o'clock. If you arrive at
four the hostess will exclaim, as she lays away your
hat and parasol, that she certainly thought you
were not coming. Then she will invite you to sit in
a rocker in the dining room, while she bustles away
to finish her work in the kitchen; for they do so
much work in a day—these country people. The
daughter of the house is also busy, you see her flit-
ting about i: the kitchen and she just gives you a
smile now and then as she passes the door. You
look wistfully out at the cool depths of the grove,
but the daughter is too busy for you to suggest such
an unheard of thing as a walk there. Afver a while,
she does come in and talk for a little, and then she
brings a photograph album from the parlor—for

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82 ROWNED AT ELIM.

there is a parlor—to entertain you while she is get-
ting supper ready. Andsucha supper! Cold fowl
and fried potatoes, and hot biscuits, and fresh butter
and honey, and pies—two kinds at least—and cakes,
such a quantity of them; more dainties than one
could think of attempting to eat in a week. And
then when supper is over, you think now you will
see your hostess and her daughter for a little, Lut
again you are disappointed. You are shown into
the parlor, a little box affair containing three chairs,
acenter table and melodian. The men are going to
have supper and the mother and daughter must wait
on them. So you sit in state in the little parlor,
gazing at the pictures on the wall and do not even
get a glimpse of the father and big brothers, not to
mention the hired man. You study the pictures for
a long half hour, but you are rewarded at last. The
daughter comes and sits with you in the gloaming
and asks you about the city—that wonderful place
which she has never yet scen—and about St. Peters-
burg which seems so unreal to her. Then the big
brothers come in with clean collars, polished faces
and smoothed plumage. A game of croquet is sug-
gested, and to the garden we go. Partners and
colors are chosen, and then for a happy hour there is
the constant sharp click as the mallet strikes the
ball; the peal of laughter when an opponent has
been vanquished; the exclamation of woe from the
vanquished one; and, in the intervals of silence, the
ceaseless argument of the katydids, the clang of a
distant cow-bell and the song of the whip-poor-will.
Taken altogether, that hour in the twilight makes
up for the martyrdom of the afternoon.”

CROWNED AT ELIM. 83

The minister smiled at the recital. It was so
like his own early experiences in Riverside. ‘ You
will have to do as I do,” he said; ‘‘make these good
people understand that you cannot come till the
stroke of six. If you are determined they become
accustomed to it and do not mind.”

‘Oh, I never thought of introducing city ways
into the country. You are the minister and a law
unto yourself. I am only a girl; they would not
tolerate any innovations from me.”

For a time they drove along in silence. The
landscape was so fair with all that wide expanse of
spotless white, only broken here and there by a
stump piled high with a rounded cap of snow, while
beyond the fields, the woods stretched out—immacu-
late, silent, beautiful. The dreamy landscape im-
pressed the minister with a sense of repose, and a

sense of repose was very agreeable after the night of

anxiety through which he had passed, though the
weight had been somewhat lifted from his heart, for
he had that morning seen Leyden, and the boy was
so penitent and Mrs. Bell so cheerful, that he too
felt hopeful, and though he knew that long history
which the mother did not know, yet already the
events of the past night seemed a horrid dream, and
Leyden was a boy to be trusted once more. He
was brought back from his contemplation of the
restful picture by a tremulous little sigh of content.

‘Then you like nature, too,”’ he said, seeing that
she was feasting her eyes on the scene. “It is my
companion when all other friends fail.”

‘When all other friends fail!’’ she exclaimed.
“Why, your whole congregation adores you. They

S4+ CROWNED AT ELIM.

are perfect devotees, in fact, and burn incense to you
the live-long day.”

He smiled at the pagan metaphor, but did not
at once reply. At last he said:

‘While it is a blessed privilege to feed this little
flock, yet it is possible that the shepherd may hunger,
too, for human sympathy.”

Trema did not reply. There was nothing to say
in 2 1swer to those words uttered so simply, yet un-
consciously disclosing so much. The pathos of them
touched her heart, and revealed a new phase in the
character of this friend. She saw a strong soul, who
was giving his life’s best efforts, his strength, his
energy, his love, his holiness, uareservedly to his
people, while he himself was starving in loneliness for
a word of sympathy in return. As Trema had said,
his congregation adored him, yet they scarcely under-
stood him’ They felt his power, but were uncon-
scious from whence that power came. They knew
he comforted them, but it seemed part of the office
of a pastor to comfort his people in affliction. That
he had any troubles of his own in which their sym-
pathy would have helped him, they did not realize;
that in his busy life it was yet possible for him to
live in lonely isolation, they cou!d not even have
conceived.

The young minister’s eves came back from study-
ing the snow-covered fields, to which they had again
reverted, and rested with a lingering wistfulness on
the face beside him and then he looked away with
eyes filled with a sudden joy, for in the gleam of her
fervent eyes, in the speaking eloquence of her thought-
ful face, he read that she understood him as well as

CROWNED AT ELIM. 85

if he had told her all his story. Though in his heart
joybells were chiming a new sweet tune, yet he did
not continue the subject which seemed to have cast a
shadow on her bright spirits, and for the remainder
of their drive he was gay and witty, surprising his
young friend with his fund of mirth and by his sharp
repartee.

86 CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER VIII.

bf David McGlashan returned from Green-
vale, he went in to see how Casimir Zamoyski
was. He found him very il but feeling in-
clined to sleep, so he did not remain long in the sick
room, but went to the drawing room with Madame
Zamoyski to see some new music which had just
arrived from Toronto for Trema. David McGlashan
was very tond of music. His piano was the first
brought into the settlement, and its arrival had been
an event of importance. Its progress through the
village had been heralded by a gathering of small
boys, who were very curious to know what such a
great box contained.

‘Perhaps it is filled with pikes sent over by the
Fenians, who will murder us all in our beds some
night.”

‘Pikes, your grandmother! Nice things they
would be to send to the minister’s house. It’s more
likely to be cannon to shoot the Fenians with.”

“What would they want to shut cannon up ina
box like that for? Cannon won't break. Now, I
think it is the skeleton of some big animal—a fossil,
you know. The minister is awful interested in
them things.”

‘Well, maybe it is a skeleton,” said a fourth boy,

CROWNED AT ELIM 87

“but I think it is pictures, though they would have
to be pretty big ones to fill a box like that.”

But notwithstanding their curiosity, when the
box arrived at its destination not one of the boys
would go near it, and when the minister came out
and asked if they would help lift it off the wagon,
they turned on their heels and fled. The gardener
went to his assistunce, but the box still proved too
much for theia; so Mr. McGlashan, seeing one of
his elders passing, called, ‘‘ Mr. Carruth, won’t you
please come and help us with this piano?”

‘‘An’ whatever dae ye want wi’ a piano?” asked
Matthew, when he had surveyed the monstrous box.

‘To play on; to make lonely moments a little
less lonely.”’

‘‘Less lonely! Ma guid man, on the few occa-
sions in ma life that I hae been treated tae an exhi-
beetion o’ instrumental music, I hae hertily wushed
masel’ in the next concession. I mind what Charles
Lamb said aboot it, an’ I fully sympathize wi’ him:
‘Tae be exposed tae an endless battery o’ mere
soonds; tae be lang a-deein’; tae lie stretched upon
a rack o’ roses, tae gaze on toom picture frames an’
be forced tae mak up the pictures for yersel’, tae read
a buik a’ stops, an’ be obleeged tae supply the verbal
matter.’ That's juist what I hae endured whan
listenin’ tae instrumental music. But tae be sure
I'll gie ye a haund wi’ the box.”’

The piano was an old story by this time, however,
for several others had since heen brought into the
district. But a new pleasure was added to the
minister’s life when he found that he had for neigh-
bors such musical people as the Zamoyskis. So he

88 CROWNED AT ELIM,

looked over the music with interest, and presently he
and Madame Zamoyski were in the midst of an
animated discussion regarding the differences be-
tween ‘‘absolute”’ and “program” or descriptive
music.

‘““My dear Madame Zamoyski,”’ said Mr. Me-
Glashan, ‘‘you have just stated that in music there
is an absence of definite outline, which may cause a
musical composition to mean something different to
every hearer, but might that not be said of a poem,
or a book, ora picture? Is anv art simply a repro-
duction of actual fact? Take this old portrait which
I see before me. It is the picture of a handsome
nobleman apparelled in white satin. The orders on
his breast and rapier at his side are partially con-
cealed by a long crimson velvet mantle. It is a fine
picture, and yet I very much doubt if his friends ever
saw him look just exactly like that. For the artist
would not paint him as he looked at any given
moment, but would study the different traits of his
character, the changing expressions of his face, and
then make a sort of composite picture, giving promi-
nence to the most conspicuous traits and indicating
others more delicately. Yet he has evidently suc-
ceeded in retaining a good likeness, for I see in the
face a strong resemblance to yourhusband. I should
say that it is a picture of his father.”’

‘No, it is a picture of Casimir’s grandfather, but
the resemblance is most marked. I was much im-
pressed with the similarity between the two when I
first saw the portrait hanging in the drawing-room
at Stroganoff Palace.”

“And I suppose Mr. Zamoyski would find much

CROWNED AT ELIiM. 8&9

amusement in trying to make you guess who it was
a portrait of.”

‘Casimir? Oh, he was not there; he was in
Paris.”

“Indeed !"’

The expression on the minister’s face, more than
the exclamatory word, showed unconcealed curiosity.
He was much interested in the Zamoyskis, the more
so, no doubt, because so little was known regarding
them. Casimir Zamoyski, though the most enter-
taining of conversationalists, had never in the min-
ister’s presence made a single reference to his early
life. And though David McGlashan had no desire to
pry into matters which did not concern him, yet he
did feel that it would be pleasanter if he knew a
little more about these new friends. And to-day
there was a deeper reason, scarcely analyzed as yet,
which made anything that concerned Trema even in
the remotest way, of intense interest to him. So he
waited almost breathlessly, hoping that Madame
Zamoyski would tell him something further. Hewas
not disappointed, for after a brief pause she said:

“In faet, Mr. McGlashan, my husband did not
accompany me, because he had incurred the displea-
sure of the Czar and also of his step-father, Count
Stroganoff, and dare not return to Russia though it
was his birthplace. We had been living in Paris,
Casimir and I, but he took seriously ill, so that we
were very poor. One day, however, my husband's
friend, Prince Adam Czartoryski, came, and we de-
cided that it would be best for me to go to St.
Petersburg and secure a personal interview with
the Czar, when perhaps he would excuse Casimir’s

90 CROWNED AT ELIM.

offence, Prince Adam took Casimir home with him
to his chateau at Montfermiel, till I should return.”

“And did you really undertake such a long
journey alone?”

“Oh, yes, I started out bravely, but I shall never
forget the moment when I stood on the marble steps
before the imposing entrance to Stroganoff Palace—
Casimir’s old home—fearing to ring for admittance.
Had I dared, I would have turned and fled from the
place. But Limagined how Casimir and the Prince
would laugh, should I return to Paris without even
seeing the Countess Stroganoff. That thought de-
cided me; I turned at once and rang the bell. Itwas
answered by a functionary in livery. I remembered
that I was to speak in French, and asked the man in
rather halting phrases if I might see the Countess
Stroganoff. I was shown into the salon, and sink-
ing into a chair, I waited what seemed to me an
interminable time before I heard the rustle of a silken
gown, and Countess Stroganoff glided into the room,
She was tall and slender, and a dainty head-dress of
exquisite lace rested on her snow-white hair. She
still held my card in her delicate fingers. As she did
not offer to sit down, I rose at once.

‘“*\Madame Zamoyski, I believe,’ the Countess
said, glancing at the card, then fixing her blue eyes
intently on me she waited for me to speak. I was
very nervous, though I managed to make her under-
stand that I was her son’s wife. When I told her,
however, that Iwas an English merchant’s daughter,
she became very angry and said that the Zamoyskis
had not been wont to mix with tradespeople. I toid
her that I had married her son against my father’s

fa

CROWNED AT ELIM. 91

wishes; that he did not think Casimir good enough
for a son-in-law. ‘Your father must have been a
very ignorant person,’ she replied coldly. ‘My son
has forsaken the ways of his fathers.’ She glanced
as she spoke to her father’s portrait, the picture we
have just been discussing. As I looked at it I noticed
that, notwithstanding the pride of the patrician
countenance, there was in many points a strong re-
semblance to the face of my dear husband. Do you
wonder that I should remember the occasion of my
first seeing it so vividly ?”’

‘*And what did you tell her?’ asked the minister,
smiling. ‘ That in forsaking the ways of his fathers,
he had probably chosen a better path?”

“Oh no, I Jared not tell her that. You have no
idea with what an awe her Grace impressed me.
And, indeed, she did not give me a chance to reply,
for she went right on saying that her eldest son had
been a gricvous disappointment to her; that while
at home he had been so easy going that he had
allowed Ivan, his younger brother, to take precedence
in all things; at the university he had foolishly taken
part in a rising which he knew quite well could not
succeed. Then she had been looking forward to his
being reinstated in society through a grand matri-
monial alliance; that now to hear of his marriage
was the bitterest disappointment of all. Then she
wanted to know why I had ccme to her.

“Tt was a dreadful predicament, Mr. McGlashan.
It seemed such impertinence to tell her that we had
purposed coming to live at Stroganoff Paiace, when
I had not even been requested to sit down.
“*Casimir is ill,’ I answered hesitatingly; ‘and

92 CROWNED AT ELIM,

we thought—that is, Prince Adam Czartoryski and
I—that if he were able to come to St. Petersburg
and for a time have a complete rest, free from all
the anxieties of life, that he would grow stronger.
But under the Czar’s edict he cannot return. So
we thought that if some one were to see the Czar
personally, that he might relent and allow Casimir
to come home. And there seemed to be no one who
could come except me.’

“Is my son, then, so destitute of friends,’ said
the Countess, ‘that he had no one to plead his cause
before His Imperial Majesty but a tradesman’s
daughter ?’

‘* Vou forget, Madame,’ I exclaimed, haughtily,
‘that I am Casimir Zamoyski’s wife.’

‘** Alas,’ she replied, ‘I must remember it now for
the remainder of my life. But since you have come
on such a mission, pray be seated.’

“T stood frigidly erect for the space of a moment
and then sat down. Iwas sorely tempted to turn
my back upon the Countess and leave her presence
forever; but for Casimir’s sake I was obliged te
conquer my pride and stay.

‘** Vou say,’ said the Countess, when I had taken
a seat, ‘that Casimir has been ill. What was the
trouble?’

“*A slow fever, brought on by overwork and
worry.’

‘“A swift wave of color mantled the face of the
Countess at my words. Her eyes strayed over the
inlaid floor, partly covered with a Persian carpet;
over the tables of marqueterie, onyx and ormulu,
on which many elegant trifles were placed; over the

b

ee

CROWNED AT ELIM mS

valuable pictures which decorated the walls; over
the statuary and all the evidences of wealth in that
sumptuous apartment, and she sighed. I knew she
was thinking that while she was surrounded by all
this elegance her eldest son was dying of overwork.

“* Vou must be weary,’ she said at length, and I
was surprised at the sweetness of the tone. * Allow
me to show you to the room which will now be
yours. It wasCasimir's room when he was at home
and I have never allowed any one to occupy it since
he went away. You will have an hour to rest before
dressing for dinner. It was fortunate you found us
in town, as we are always at the Islands in summer;
but the city will be the scene of many festivities for
the next few days, as the Grand Duchess Olga is to
be married on the 14th. You will see the Czar then,
and you will be able to form some idea of what he is
like.’ When we had gone up stairs, she said: ‘ This
is your room; I shall send my maid to you when it is
time to dress. You will meet Count Stroganoff at
dinner, as well as our son Ivan and his wife, who
dine with us to-night.’”’

“And how did you like the others?’ asked the
minister. ‘‘Was Count Stroganoff as haughty as
his wife ?"’

‘‘He said so little to me that I was a long time
forming any opinion regarding him. Ivan was a
handsome, dashing fellow, with never a serious
thought in his head, however. His wife, Madame
la Princess (Catherine, they called her) was reserved
and cold, and evidently held me mentally at arm’s
length, as if I were not of their caste. But I soon
met lots like Madame la Princess. I was plunged

94 CROWNED AT ELE.

at once among great folk. The city that week
was filled with dist: nguished personages, and their
presence lent additional lustre to the grand military
review, which was held a few days after I arrived.
The Ministers and Envoys E xtraordinary, the Pleni-
potentiaries and other high dignitaries appeared in
gorgeous dress. I drove to the review in the Stro-
ganoff carriage, which was a very luxurious one
drawn by four horses. The glittering host was a
sight to see, but I was looking for one person,

“Ts that His Imperial Majesty?’ I asked eagerly,
as I saw the people bowing and doffing their hats to
a personage in the procession. And then, forgetting
that he was within earshot and might overhear me,
I thougiitlessly added, ‘ He is the handsomest man I
have seen since I came to St. Petersburg.’

‘“* Hush,’ whispered the Countess; ‘he will hear
you’; and the other occupants of the carriage looked
at me in displeased surprise. I saw that I had
thoughtlessly committed a grave offence, and to add
to my confusion, the Emperor turned his head and
looked directly at me. I had spoken in English.
Could it be possible that he had overheard? When

the Czar and his guard of honor had passed, Madame
la Princess turned to me and said, with curled lip:

“Ts it customary in your country to pass re-
marks about your sovereigns in their presence ?’

‘“*T spoke in English; it is doubtful if he under-
stood me,’ I answered, ‘arelessly, ‘and if he did,
it was no great crime to say he is handsome.’

“*You forget you are speaking about the Czar.
No one in all Russia would have had the effrontery
to say what you did.’

CROWNED AT ELIM. 95

«Then I hold the unique position of being ¢:1-
ferent from eighty millions of people.’

“*Vou hold the unique position of being the
target for the Czar’s displeasure. I do not suppose
your offence merits a sojourn in Siberia, but aay
favor you are looking forward to receiving from His
Majesty is doomed.’

‘*So, despite my indifferent manner, I was very
uneasy; and to make matters worse, the Countess
again reverted to the subject on our return home;
saying how very rude it was to pass such remarks
in the presence of royalty, and confirming Catherine's
opinion that the unfortunate remark would injure
my cause.”

‘‘And did you speak to the Czar ?”’

‘Oh, yes, I must tell you about it. On the even-
ing of the wedding there was a grand ball given by
the Emporer at Michael Palace. In one of the salons
opening from the ball room, foreign diplomats and
other distinguished persons were being presented
to their Imperial Majesties by the grand master of
Court ceremonies. The reproof of the Countess had
left me in a state of nervous dread. I trembled in
anticipation of the ordeal of being presented. At
last my turn came. How I acquitted myself I do
not know. I have a confused recollection of glancing
up for a moment at the noble, haughty face of the
Emporer, which yet I fancied looked at me not un-
kindly. Of the Empress, my impression is even more
vague. Her Majesty spoke a few gracious words to
me, and her sweet gentle manner helped somewhat
to restore my composure. After the ordeal was over
I looked up at the Countess, who was by my side,

96 CROWNED AT ELIM.

and was rewarded with a smile. If there had been
anything amiss in my manner it had escaped those
critical eyes. We passed with the imposing, glitter-
ing throng to the ball room, where we saw at some
distance Catherine engaged in conversation with
Prince Dolgorouki. After we had heen introduced,
he requested the favor of the next waltz. I was
almost afraid to dance with a real live prince, but
when the strains of the orchestra were heard we
glided down the lengthy gallery. On, on, we swept
into that fairy world of gay costumes, flowers and
tropical plants. It was my first ball, for I married
before I was old enough to go into society, and for
a time the splendor and novelty thrilled me with
pleasure. But when I thought of Casimir and of
the task I had still to perform, the dance lost its
novelty and the evening was stripped ofits splendor,

‘When the waltz was over, I slipped away alone
to an artificial grove of palm, banana, and orange
trees. The lights, the music, the giddy crowd had
become wearying. There the air was cool with the
spray of fountains. A few steps further brought me
to a delightful retreat. It was a miniature pavilion
partly formed of glass. The view from the window
was in marked contrast to the scene within. The
moonlight, in that northern latitude so clear and so
brilliant, lighted up the many domes of St. Peters-
burg and turned the Neva into a sheet of molten
silver. For some moments I stood gazing in wonder
at the magic light. Then someone approached and
stood beside me, but I was so engrossed with the
scene that for a moment I did not look up, and when
I did so I was amazed to find the Emporer standing

CROWNED AT ELIM. 97

beside me. I welcomed him with a smile of recogni-
tion, and again my eyes reverted to the window.
We did not speak. It seemed that any sound, how-
ever slight, would mar that magic spell. I did not
seem to realize that I was standing in the presence of
the monarch of all the Russias. My former fear
of him was gone. For some indefinable reason, it
seemed that the Emperor, the imperious monarch,
the haughty autocrat, had remained in the reception
room, and that the person who stood beside me was
endowed with human feelings like myself, and had a
heart also alive to the beauties of that Polar night.
When I should tell that monarch out in the reception
room about Casimir and ask pardon for his offence,
there would have to be an interpreter and a lot of
ceremonies; but I might tell this person who was
looking out on the Neva all about our trouble and
he would understand. With my mind filled with
these thoughts I looked up questioningly into his
face. His lips parted in a soft grave smile as he said
in English:

“*Vou enjoy this view, Madame Zamoyski. Do
you find it different from views in England ?’

“*This brilliant moonlight is something quite
novel to me,’ I answered; ‘but I have been living in
aris for two years.’ And then, impelled by some
power which I have never been able to define, I told
him my story and why I had come to St. Petersburg.
I kept nothing back, but told him of leaving my
home in London; of going to Paris; of Casimir’s
struggles to earn a livelihood; of our little home,
and finally of my husband’s illness. As I talked, the
Emperor's grave eyes never left my face. He listened

98 CROWNED AT ELIM.

intently to every word, and when I finished he merely
said, ‘ You will hear from me in the morning.’ Then,
bowing gravely, he withdrew.

‘The remainder of the ball was as a dream. I
hovered continually between joy and despair. One
moment I imagined that the Emperor would grant
Casimir’s pardon, and the next I was reproaching
myself for my presumption in speaking to him.

‘*When I awoke the next morning, I half fancied
that the events of the previous evening must have
been adream. In the practical light of common day
it seemed incredible that I should have been talking
to the Czar in that moon-flooded pavilion. The
wonderful lights, the tropical grove, the fountains,
and the music must surely have been a beautiful
dream. But through the half opened door of the
wardrobe, I could see the white silk gown which I
had worn, while on the bureau was the pearl neck-
lace which the Countess had given me and which I
had been too tired to put away. On the table, how-
ever, lay a legal looking document which I had never
seen before. LIeagerly opened it and saw affixed to
the Emperor's signature the huge red seal of the
Empire. ‘His Imperial Majesty, Emporer Nicholas,
has deigned to command that the edict against
Casimir Zamoyski shall be withdrawn.’ I waited
to read no more, but rushed with the precious docu-
ment into Countess Stroganoff’s boudoir, and in the
exuberance of my joy, I threw my arms about her
Grace’s neck, exclaiming:

‘“**Casimir is pardoned! He may really come to
St. Petersburg. Are you not glad? Do you not
rejoice with me?’

CROWNED AT ELIM. 99

“At my warm greeting the Countess shivered.
Evidently she could not have been more shocked had
one of her maids embraced her. I cannot tell you,
Mr. McGlashan, what a painful surprise that was to
me. I had noticed all along that they found it very
dificult to make me one of them: but I thought that
when they found that I was educated and refined as
well as they, that they would be lenient to (what
they thought) my lowly birth. And then I had been
so lonely since leaving Paris, and I thought perhaps
the Countess would show me a little affection when
I had been the means of getting Casimir’s pardon,
but—I was a plebian; between the plebian and the
patrician there was a wide gulf fixed, over which
neither could cross. However, I told her briefly of
my interview with the Czar and its result. When
Casimir arrived, the Stroganoffs were very kind to
him. Even his step-father gave him a cordial wel-
come. The Czar was kind, too, and offered him the
position which his father had held. And though he
did not like the idea of remaining permanently in
Russia, yet, under the circumstances, he was glad
to accept it. Altogether, we should have been very
happy in St. Petersburg, only for the coolness of the
Stroganoffs to me.”

“Did they not become more friendly towards
you?”

“No, I think matters were becoming even worse
as time went on, till the birth of our little Trema.
She was a most engaging child and the Countess
became passionately fond of her. One day she said.
‘This diminutive representative of the house of
Zamoyski unites in her small person all the beauty

100 CROWNED AT ELIM.

and grace of her illustrious ancestors.’ And though
it was only a grandmother’s eyes which could see
such charms, still it shows how fond the Countess
was of her little granddaughter. In disposition,
Trema was the very antithesis of her little cousin,
Ivan Stroganoff, who was then three years old. He
would have none of the Countess’ petting, so she
paid less attention to him, and Trema became her
heart’s idol. One day, when Trema was eight years
old, we were all together on the lawn at the summer
home of the Stroganofis, and Trema ran up to the
Countess and said: ‘ Let me whisper a secret to you,
grandmamma’; and ina moment her Grace’s merry
laugh rang out in the summer air. No one had
the power to make the Countess young and gay like
her little granddaughter. Catherine watched the
child pirouetting in front of her
glinting in the sunshine, her blue eyes sparkling at

her golden hair

some mischief she was concocting—and her eyes grew
dark with hatred. I saw her whispering to her
husband. What she said I do not know, but from
that time she took active measures to estrange the
Countess and myself. I know now that she was
determined that we should be ousted from Stroganoff
Palace. During the two years which followed, I
suffered more humiliation than often falls to the lot
of a single individual. And in the end Catherine
succeeded in her desire. The climax came suddenly.
The Countess and myself had just had a_ bitter
quarrel, when Casimir came in with his face stern
and white, and said to me: ‘ That woman, Catherine,
wants us away from here. She has concocted the
most diabolical plot. With Volkonski's assistance,

CROWNED AT ELIM. 101

she has circulated a story that I have formed a
conspiracy to assassinate the Czar. I cannot tell
you the detai!s, for I am not s: vfe another hour in
Russia. If I were sure of standing a trial, I would
defy Catherine and all her minions. But one is never
sure of anything in this country. A carriage is at
the door and we must be away from here in half an
hour. Whereis Trema? She must bid her grand-
mamma goodbye.’ And Trema, all unconscious of
what had transpired in the past hour, came in from
the lawn leisurely swinging her hat in her hand.
But she was quickly put into a traveling costume
by her dyitka, and before she had time to wonder
what it all meant, the Countess had kissed her good-
bye, she was lifted into a closed carriage and we
were off to Prince Czartoryski’s estate in Galicia.
I shall never forget that journey. Even now I can-
not recall it without a shudder. Iam glad that we
are divided f-om it by six years of time, and that we
have at last found such a peaceful spot in which to
live as Riverside. But do you know, Mr. McGlashan,
that we never finished our discussion on absolute
and program music?’

“What you have told me of your experiences in
St. Petersburg has been much more interesting than
any discussion. I am sure you were very brave
to go alone to Russia on such an errand, and it is
pleasant to know that you were successful, though
you had so many trials after. But what a change
it was for you to come to Canada. You would find
it very dull here.”

“You refer to the change in society. Oh yes, it
was a great change, though we had some nice friends

102

CROWNED AT ELIM.

while we lived in Toronto. But here at Riverside
the loneliness is to me almost unbearable, but my
husband likes the quietness and so I try to be con-
tented for his sake. I love to mix in the society in
which we moved at St. Petersburg. I would forget
all my petty grievances when I was in such dis-
tinguished company. But it is all over now,”
Madame Zamoyski ended with a sigh.

“Oh, one may spend a very pleasant and busy
life in Riverside,’’ said the minister, thinking of all the
plans he had formed and been obliged to abandon
because of lack of time. ‘‘And that reminds me that
I have still two sermons to look over for to-morrow.
I hope Mr. Zamoyski will be feeling better in a few
days.” Saying which, the minister picked up his hat
and strode quickly away to the manse.

EP ear nn

BRT rite

CROWNED AT ELIM. 103

CHAPTER IX.

TEWART CAIRNS drove Trema home Monday

S morning, and Beth accompanied them, as she

wished to make some purchases in town. They
reached Vinemount in time for luncheon.

‘You must have had a delightful drive on Satur-
day,’’ Madame Zamoyski said to her daughter, when
there was a lull in the spirited conversation which
the young people had been carrying on.

Trema bent her head slightly forward, while her
wavy hair partly hid her blushing face. She seemed
absorbed in a bunch of grapes. It was late in the
season for grapes and they were quite a luxury, so
she held the bunch with one hand and selected a
grape with great care.

“It was,”’ she said, lifting her head in a proud
way, as if thereby she might stop the color from
further mantling her face. ‘It was indeed delightful.
I shall always remember that drive. But when we
got there, Jamie—the little rogue—who had heen
hiding behind the big gate, hit mein the back of the
neck with a snowball. He thought it was father
who was with me, and when he saw that it was Mr.
Me Slashan——”’

‘‘He ran and hid?”

‘No, indeed! He got more snowballs ready. But

104 CROWNED AT ELIM

I left the scene of the fray where the balls were flying
fast and furious, and ran in to get Beth to help fish
the snow out of my back. We didn't succeed very
well either, did we, Beth? But then what we didn’t
get out, Il soon warmed up.”

‘How dreadful!”

Trema gave her shoulders an almost impercept-
ible shrug. ‘“ What would you have, tropic weather
all the time? AmInotinured tocold? Did I not
spend the first ten years of my existence in Peters-
burg? And Canada can't hold a candle to Peters-
burg for cold. But, mamma, will you please excuse
us now? For Beth has a big programme to fill be-
fore she returns this afternoon, and Stewart has a
programme of his own to look after.”

“Well, well, I suppose you are off again with
Beth. Really, Trema, you are getting to be quite a
gadabout.”’

“Gadabout! Just think of it! It is so easy to
be a gadabout in a place the size of Riverside.” And
they all laughed at the expression of mock disgust
on Trema’s face.

After Stewart and the girls left, Madame Zamoy-
ski still lingered over her coffee. She was thinking.
She tapped the carpet impatiently and puckered her
eyebrows in perplexity.

“What has come to the child?” she said aloud.
“Unaccountable and even foolish as it may seem, the
fact remains that in the two days that Trema has
been away she seems to have taken on a new loveli-
ness. To her beauty has been added a charming
reticence which covers even her playful vivacity lke
aveil. Whatcanit mean? Nothing, likely, except

CROWNED AT ELIM. 105

that she is growing older and I never chanced to
notice it before. But,’ she ended with a sigh, ‘‘what
matters beauty, or charms, or talents in a place like
Riverside?’’ Then, like a flash, a thought came.
She would write to the Countess and try to bring
about a reconciliation, when doubtless her Grace
would invite Trema to St. Petersburg, where her
beauty would certainly bring her a title. Madame
Zamoyski felt that to see her daughter mistress of a
mansion in the City of the Czars would be sufficient
reward for the life she was enduring at Riverside.
Behind this plan there lurked the hope that should
it succeed, she would be able to end this exile against
which her whole nature revolted. For it was an
exile. Try as she would, strive as she might, she
could no longer cheat herself into thinking otherwise.
How she hated it all—the country village, the still
fields, the babbling river, the endless woods. She
hated, too, the grave people who made up her little
world; she hated their stolid faces and slow ways.
If something would only happen; if she might get
another glimpse of real society; attend an opera,
or a reception! Delusive dream! Nothing ever
happens or ever will happen. Some day a country
dame may come to sell butter, and during the trans-
action she will detail the news of the country-side.
Perhaps some time there may be a tea-meeting at
the kirk and then the slow days will drag on again;
and she will rise in the morning to go through the
same duties, to read the same books, and to play the
same music as have occupied her since coming to the
village. And she is still young; the years have left
no trace upon herbeauty. Many years yet remained

106 CROWNED AT ELIM.

in which she might enjoy life, but here she was—
caged in Riverside.

“Oh, how I hate it!’’ she exclaimed, bringing her
closed hand down on the arm of her chair, with a
thud that set her rings a-tinkling. Then she looked
euiltily around. Whatif Casimir should hear her?
But he cannot hear her; he is in his room, and he
must not know how she detests the stupid little
place; for he is happy here, and did she not say long
ago that she was willing to go anywhere, to sulfer
anything, so long as he was with her. Ah, yes, but
she was young then and she did not realize what she
was promising. Oh, for another taste of the gay
life which she had led during those years in Russia.
True, her days had been made bitter by neglect, but
better so than this monotonous existence, The very
thought of what might be filled her heart with hope;
her face was all aglow with animation as she rose at
last and rang the bell.

“Has your master had luncheon?” she asked,
when Hannah appeared.

“No, whan I took up the tray he wudna hae it
ava, but he said that aifter a wee whilie, nae doot,
ye wud tak him up a bit sup.”

“Oh, I see,’ said Madame Zamoyski, smiling, ‘‘he
wants me to prepare him something myself." Then
to herself she added softly, ‘‘He has not forgotten
the Paris days.”

So she wert into the kitchen, and soon Hannali
was looking on wonderingly at the dainty concoc-
tions which appeared under the skillful hands of her
mistress. In a short time a snowy cloth was laid
on the tray, the dishes were arranged attractively

CROWNED AT ELIM. 107

and then Miriam went into the conservatory to get
asmall bouquet. As she arranged the delicate fronds
of a maidenhair fern about the half-blown bud of a
fragrant tea rose, she said confidently :

‘He will be delighted with this little bouquet
and will enjoy the lunch, for I have prepared his
favorite dishes. While he is eating it, I will broach
the subject of writing to his mother.’

When she laid the tray on a low table by his side
he looked up at her with his winning smile. ‘* What
a perfect little wife you are! Hannah brought me
some lunch a while ago, but the very sight of it took
my appetite away. Now this lunch looks so tempt-
ing that I shall have to eat it whether I want it or
not. But do you know what I think? You have
missed your calling; you should have been a nurse.
What a treasure you would have been out in the
Crimea last year. Florence Nightingale would have
had to divide the honors with you. It is too bad to
waste your gifts on just poor insignificant me.”

“Do you know what I think, Pan Zamoyski?”’
Madame Zamoyski answered, smiling mischievously.

“T think you are not very ill, or you would not be
able to think of so many pretty things tosay. I am
going to tell Dr. Blair that he is just petting you
up, telling you that you must keep to your room
for so many days.”

“T wish you would carry out your threat right
away, for I would like nothing better than to get up
for dinner to-night. Itis anything but pleasant to
lie all day and stare at the wall paper, till you fancy
monkeys’ faces are grinning at you.”

“You poor boy! Why did you not tell me that

108 CROWNED AT ELIM.

you were lonesome? I'll go and get a book and read
to you. Prose or poetry? Poetry! oh dear, that is
my penance for offering to read to you.”

While getting the book, she thought, ‘‘ He does
look ill; he is quite feverish. I must not mention
anything that will excite him; I cannot speak of it
to him to-day.”

The days passed, and Madame Zamoyski did not
get an opportunity to mention the subject which
now occupied so many of her thoughts. She had
not thought, at first, that it would be a difficult
matter; but the very mention of his home always
brought painful thoughts, and by tacit agreement
St. Petersburg was never spoken of between them.
But one day after dinner, Casimir was sitting in the
drawing room looking out of the window, and said:

‘‘ How beautiful the country is; the snow stays
so pure and white.”

“Ves,” Madame Zamoyski replied, ‘‘and does not
that clump of larch and spruce remind you of the
little thicket near the arbor at ‘Dulce far Niente’?”’

“Ves, there is a resemblance, but Iam sorry you
called my attention to it, for lam afraid that I will
think of ‘Dulce far Niente’ now every time I look at
those trees, and if I had to think every day of the
villa, and of Stroganoff Palace, and of it all,” throw-
ing out his hands wearily, ‘I am sure it would kill
me. What is that you are singing, Trema?

‘* Billing, cooing,
Panting, wooing.

Melting murmurs fill the grove

“I thought you said not long since that you disliked
Acis and Galatea, that it was only fit for people to

CROWNED AT ELIM. 109

sing who lived in Arcady. Won't you please play me
that selection from Wagner that you were fingering |
so softly this afternoon?”
While her husband was speaking, Madame Za-
moyski thought: ‘‘If he dislikes St. Petersburg so
much, how can I ever suggest sending Trema there ?”’
Trema played as her father bade her, and when
he complained of feeling chilly and went off to the
library where a grate fire burned brightly, she still
played on. Half an hour later, Madame Zamoyski
lifted her head from the book she was reading and
listened. What was the child singing? The words Pay
came softly, dreamily:
‘‘The wind is whispering low, my love,
The moon is rising slow, my love;
And I, love, thy true love,
Am keeping watch o’er thee.”

How tenderly she sang the little serenade. Surely it
could not be. Was she aiready too late? Had the
child——? No, it could not be. There was no one in
the whole countryside who would be likely to steal
Trema’s foolish little heart. Thus MadameZamoyski
cast her suspicions from her and went on reading her
book.

| meen pametmegen = et nme nt ements al eA aR ~~ Genieqparee

eae

110 CROWN&D AT ELIN,

CHAPTER X.

HRISTMAS was i pproaching. Every village
C and town was n a flutter of preparation.
Down the river, a settlement of Germans was
preparing for Santa Claus. A few miles away a
little colony of Swedes was making extensive pre-
parations for the festive season. Julgranen will be
loaded down with presents, and julbordet will have
toothsome dainties such as only come on that day of
days. At Riverside, the festivities were to culminate
in a Sunday-school social, which included a Christ-
mas tree.

As the twilight deepened on the eventful after-
noon, busy workers were putting finishing touches
to the school room, which was gorgeous in its holi-
day attire. The tree—or more properly, arch—was
laden with books, and dolls, and games, which would
gladden the hearts and brighten the eyes of the little
people a couple of hours hence. In the center of the
arch, and supported and canopied by it, seats were
built tier above tier. Here the scholars would sit
and raise their sweet young voices in hymn, and
earol, and sacred song; driving care and thought
from the older, graver faces, bringing back happy
memories of days long past. In the church proper,
rehearsals had been going forward, as it was the

CROWNED AT ELIM. 111

only place where the children could sing undisturbed.
A str -!l melodian had been taken in for the rehearsal
and TremaZamoyski was organist. Charlie Kinnear
had been working like a Trojan all morning, lifting
and arranging seats, and helping to get the arch in
place; afterwards, he was director at the rehearsal.
But it was allover now. Taken altogether, it had
been a success; the little people were gone and in the
dim light of the quiet kirk the organist and director
stood by the communion table. It occupied the
space just in front of the precentor’s desk, and it
was now piled high with white roses, chrysanthe-
mums, ferns and palms—a Popish innovation, by
some directly traced to the Zamoyskis, but that
would be another story. The organist was radiant
at the success of the rehearsal, for up to this after-
noon the scholars had given a great deal of trouble;
the director was basking in her smiles and trying to
forget his aching arms. She bent her head for a
moment above a fragrant tea rose; someone opened
the vestry door and closed it again, quickly. It was
not a startling picture on which the minister had
looked—simply a fair face bending above a bank of
flowers, and standing by her side, and slightly bend-
ing 1orward too. a tall handsome young man. In
fact, the incident was so trivial that the two partici-
pants never thought of it a second time, and yet it
was sufficient to raise dreaded possibilities in a
young minister’s mind. It would only need such a
little change to make it a woeful scene for him. She
would be standing in that very spot, in just that
attitude, only she would likely be dressed in white
instead of black velvet and ermine, and a veil would

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112 CROWNED AT ELIM.

cover her blushing face. A few friends would be
standing near, and Charlie would be looking gravely
serious as became the solemn occasion. And he—he
would be holding the No! he would not, he
could not perform the ceremony.

‘* Are you jealous of Charlie?’’ a voice seemed to
ask in his ear.

“No, Lam not jealous. I think jealousy a con-
temptible trait in anyone’s character.”

‘Then why are you so annoyed at a picture you
have just conjured up in your own brain?”

‘I’m > inoyed because I wanted to speak to her
about t! ogramme, and he is talking to her. He
is always tall. ing to her.”

‘But surely it is not a private matter. Charlie
wouldn’t mind being interrupted for a moment.”’

‘‘Oh, bother! I've worried myself into a fit
of nervousness over this programme. Everybody
wants to do something they can’t do, and do not
want to do anything they can do. I think, though,
I shall have to leave it as it is.”’

Thus he thought to stifle that voice which
seemed to have a way of asking unanswerable
questions. But though the voice ceased, the vision
would not be reasoned away. It tormented him
the whole evening; it was brought vividly back
as he saw Charlie and Trema helping to serve the
tables; it haunted him as he assisted the superinten-
dent to get che children in their proper places cn the
platform, and it even came between him and the
people when, as chairman, he was in the midst of
his opening address; it was painted on the darkness
in midnight’s quiet hour, and it was only when the

|

CROWNED AT ELIM. 113

light of a new day appeared that he discovered that
he had been a very foolish young man. After all,
what had he to fear? Circumstances in connection
with the social had thrown Trema and Charlie very
much together, but it was over now and—he was
glad.

Duties in connection with his congregation and
with his work among the boys kept him very busy
for the next few days, so busy that he found that he
would have little time to prepare for his annual
congregational ‘‘At Home.” For since coming to
Riverside, each New Year's eve he had thrown open
the Manse to his people. He liked to have them; he
liked to see their happy faces and hear their merry
laughter. These evenings seemed to light the rooms
with a brightness that lingered about them during
all the gloomy after days of winter.

The minister confided his difficulty to Casimir
Zamoyski.

‘Tt really seems as if I do not know what to do
to entertain my people this year. I think I have
exhausted every form of entertainment in previous
years, and Iam really so busy that I have not time
to think of anything new. Iam sure they will be
disappointed if there is no special entertainment
provided for them.”

“If you will allow me, I will gladly do what I
can to help you,” Casimir answered, “only I should
want some lady’s assistance, and Madame Zamoyski
is busy these days.”

Mrs. Strachan, however, offered to help Casimir
provide some amusement for the young people who
would be at the minister’s social gut what the

114 CROWNED AT ELIM.

nature of that amusement would be, they refused
to disclose.

On New Year’s Eve the Manse was crowded.
When all had assembled, each of the young people
was given a slip of paper on which a figure was
written, and they were informed by the master of
ceremonies—-Casimir Zamoyski—that these slips
would admit them to a Nut Shaking, which was
to take place in the drawing room. So they filed
into the room, eager and curious, and wondering
much what 2 Nut Shaking might be. They founda
large evergreen tree at one end of the room, with
nuts placed in every available spot among the twigs,
and they noticed that some were English walnuts
and had slips of paper fastened around them.

“Now,” said Casimir, ‘will the person who has
the paper marked No. 1, come and stand under the
tree?”

Stewart Cairns had the fateful number, and he
came forward, blushing very much, and evidently
not at all liking the conspicuous position in which
he found himself.

“Now, hold out your hands and catch as many
nuts as you can.”’ The tree was given a gentle
shake. ‘‘How many?”

‘‘Seven.”’

“A fortunate number. It means the possession
of the gifts most desired by the nut-gatherer. There
is a slip of paper on one cf the nuts; let us hear
what is on it, and if you can tell the name of the
author from which the quotation is taken, you will
be privileged to take part in the yacht race which
follows later.”

CROWNED AT ELIM. 115

So, blushing more furiously still, Stewart read:
“*Out upon it, I have loved

Three whole days together;

And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult bis wings away,
Ere he shall discover,

In the whole wide world again,
Such a constant lover.'”’

Amid much laughing, poor Stewart sat down.

“But the author? You didn’t tell us the author?
You do not know! That is too bad.”’

No. 2 was Dr. Blair, and he came forward trying
to feel dignified as usual, but he did not succeed very
well. Again the tree was shaken,

‘‘Four nuts! That means great wealth. We
congratulate you, Doctor. You are evidently going
to have lots of practice, even in healthful Riverside.”

The doctor opened his slip of paper and read:

“*Oh, how hard it is to find
The one just suited to our mind.’”’

The quotation amused him as well as the others,
and he joined in the laugh which followed.

“The author is Campbell,’”’ he said, ‘‘ which
kuowledge cutitles me to join in the yacht race,
does it not?”’

Hilda Bain was next, and the number of nuts
which fell to her was six. She would be famous as
an artist, author or musician. Among her nuts also
was one which was enveloped in the mystical paper.
She opened it and tremblingly read:

***One of those bright, bewitching little creatures,

Who, if she once but shyly looked and smiled,
Would soften out the ruggedest of features.’”’

Pa Ht a oa oe

116 CROWNED AT ELIM.

“T think it was Pollock who wrote that,’’ she
said, looking up shyly at Casimir Zamoyski.

“Vou are right. That makes two for the yacht
race.”’

“Bravo! bravo! Hilda!” cried the boys, as she
took her seat.

Many others followed, all looking more or less
ill at their ease as they stood under the tree, the
center of alleyes. But if a quotation came to them,
they always opened it eagerly, as if the words were
really applicable to them and revealed some phase
of their life or character.

‘Number 16,” called Casimir, and Charlie Kin-
near came forward. Five nuts were his portion,
which, he was told, meant a voyage across the sea.
He, too, got a quocation; it read:

“May I a smail house and large garden have?
And a few friends, and many books; both true,
Both wise and both delightful too
And since love ne'er from me will flee,
A mistress, moderately fair
And good as guardian angels are—
Only beloved and loving me?”

?

This quotation caused much laughter at Charlie’s
expense, but he spe«e up bravely:

“Tt is just what I would choose anyway, if the
Fates gave me my choice out of their storehouse of

good things. And I know who wrote it; it was

Cowley
‘Good for y Charlie!
Good for you, Charlie!
Trema was next.
“Just two nuts,” said her father. “ Well that
means an early marriage,’ at which she blushed

KS

”

cried his friends.

Baar

CROWNED AT ELIN. 117

deeply; “but you are more fortunate than the
others, for each nut has a quotation.”
She opened one slip and read gravely:
“**Who is Sylvia? What is she?
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she,
The heavens such grace did lend her
That she might admired be

vo

“Tt is Shakespeare, of course;’’ and then added,
after opening the second slip, ‘‘ But this other paper
—I do not need to read it.”

“Oh, yes! yes!’’ everyone exclaimed.

“But it should have fallen to a gentleman,”’ she
said, blushing painfully.

“T will read it,’’ David McGlashan said, stepping
to her side:

‘““*Chose I a wife,
I'd have her—perhaps fair, certainly gentle,
True, if 't were possible; and tender—oh!
As daylight when it melts in evening seas,
The waves all dark with slumber.’”’

“Thank you,’’ she said softly, lifting her eyes
suffused with a happy light to his face; then drop-
ping them again, she continued, ‘‘ The lines are not
familiar to me, I cannot tell the author,’’ and moved
to her seat so gravely quiet that no one felt inclined
to tease her.

Beth came next, and as she took her place,
Casimir said:

“IT think I must have given the tree but a very
gentle touch last time,’’ and he gave it such a
vigorous shake that the nuts fell like rain. They
clung in the coils of her hair, in the frills about her

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118 CROWNED AT ELIM.

shoulders, and in her hands—fourteen inall. ‘‘ And
only one.’ she said, ruefully, ‘‘ with a quotation.”
It read:
‘Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love."

“It is from Shakespeare. But, Mr. Zamoyski,
what do fourteen nuts mean?’’

‘*Something very good, indeed. If seven is the
charmed number, twice seven is even better. It is
marriage, riches, honor—everything that is good.”
So, smiling and happy, Beth took her seat beside
Trema. But Trema had made a discovery.

‘See, Beth! I've cracked these nuts and one of
them is double. Mrs. Strachan,’’ turning to that
lady, ‘‘ What do three nuts mean?”’

se

A legacy, Miss Trema.”’

Then my fortune is changed.”’
No, it isn’t, Trema,’’ Stewart Cairns whispered
over. ‘‘It means an early marriage first and a legacy
afterwards.”

“Oh, vou dreadful boy! How smart you are!”

Meanwhile, Matthew Carruth was waiting for
the gifts the Fates might send him. He was an
elder and a bachelor, and being the superintendent
of the Sunday School, he was not quite sure if it
were a proper thing to take part in an amusement
which seemed to have an affinity with the rites of
soothsayers. The paper, besides, which he held in
his hand had something uncanny about it. Why,
of all the quotations, should this one have come to
him ?

4s

‘*The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope hardest to be lost.”

£

CROWNED AT ELIM. 119

It seemed to prove that there was some evil
genius presiding over the game. So he stood for a
moment looking at the company over his glasses
and from out the pent-house of his shaggy eyebrows,
and then he said solemnly:

‘*Ma freends, I juist canna say that this game is
a proper ane tae he played in the hoose o’ oor meen-
ister. No that I wud cast a glum ower sic bonnie
faces,’’ noting the startled look which had crept over
some of the countenances; ‘‘ but it seems tae me tae
be takkin’ a keek intae the future, which wes a
thing, as ye ken richt weel, that oor Faither gave a
maist express command against tae the Children o’
Israel. There be some wha hevna been brocht up
on the pure milk o’ the Word; these be aye fa’in’
intae unco’ weys, but it becometh us wha ken the
richt road that we tak heed tae oor weys, walkin’
aye circumspectly. I’m no much for the poetry—
Robbie Burns is guid eneuch for me—sae I dinna ken
wha made these lines up, but their fou o’ meanin’;
ay, fou o’ meanin’.”’

The minister had flushed hotly during the first
part of the superintendent's speech. ‘‘ Mr. Carruth,”
he said, ‘‘I am afraid you have taken this game too
seriously. I am sure there is no one present who
really believes that the number of nuts which they
have caught will in any way influence their future.
The game has afforded a great deal of innocent
amusement, and amusement is as necessary to young
hearts as sunshine is to flowers, and I am very grate-
fulto Mrs. Strachan and Mr. Zamoyski for devising
so pleasant an entertainment for my friends.’’ Then
turning to Casimir Zamoyski, he said: ‘‘I come next,

_

120 CROWNED AT ELIM

doT not? But,” he added, laughingly, ‘‘as I am the
last I think I should have all that is left on the tree—
quotations and all,.”’

“Oh, no! no!” the young people exclaimed.
“That would not be fair. You will have to take
what comes to you, the same as we did.”’

So the tree was once more shaken, and the nuts
tumbled down, but of all which fell he caught only
two.

‘An earlie merriage, is it?’’ said Matthew Car-
ruth, ‘I’m thinkin’ ye've no muckle time tae spare.”

But no one heeded Matthew's remark ; they were
listening to the quotation,

“Soft eyes of bluc! Sweet eyes of blue!
They haunt me morn and night;
Whate’er I do, they thrill ine through;
They're ever in my sight.
It was not so a May ago—
Uncaged my fa flew ;
Ah, quiet thought! oy love uncaught!

”

And those sweet eyes of blue.

“Those lines fell to the wrong person,’’ Mrs.
Strachan whispered to Mrs. Zamoyski. “I was
thinking of Charlie Kinnear when I wrote them.
They do not apply to Mr. MeGlashan at all. But
we should not grumble; everything has turned out
verv nicely.”

“But why should the lines apply to Charlie
Kinnear?’’ Madame Zamoyski asked.

“Oh, do you not see?”’

Trema’s mother turned in the direction indicated
and saw Charlie bending over her chair, and for
some reason Trema had flushed from brow to chin,
What was he saying to her? Trema'’s face was

i
;

CROWNED AT ELIM. ) Hy

averted, and Madame Zamoyski could not see its
expression, but she could guess what it would be.
Had she, Trema's mother, alone been blind to what /
was evidently apparent to ali. That letter to the

Countess must be written at once. She blamed her-

self for her carelessness; but she would act promptly.

Trema must go to St. Petersburg.

Meantime, for one brief moment after reading
the quotation, David McGlashan felt that every one
must know his secret; then he, too, saw Charlie
Kinnear, and a look of cold reserve overspread his
face. ‘The lines were written by Bennett,” he said (3
coldly. Then he turned to Casimir Zamoyski, and
after speaking to him for a few moments, he told the
company that the yacht race would take place in
the museum.

The museum was a room with which the boys
were perfectly familiar. It was above the library,

of her first visit to the Manse. The collections con-

and was reached by way of the stone stairway |
1
tained in the museum had been principally gathered

which had attracted Trema’s attention on the day ;

by the boys. For the minister, after his discovery at
the brewery, had sought to keep the boys out of

harm’s way by giving them something new to

interest them. So, after school and cn Saturday
afternoons, he took them on expeditions up the river,

and they received their first lessons in botany and
geology, and they were interested.

The story of the way the earth was built up, as
told by Mr. McGlashan, became as interesting as a

_

tale of R»»n Hood. Commonplace things—a piece

ne

of rock, a bit of petrified moss, the leaf of a tree or

neem on
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122 CROWNED AT ELIM.

the leg of a frog, which they had before passed by
without a second glance, soon became of absorbing
interest. They read books on minerology, zoology,
and botany, and soon they were able to discuss these
things intelligently among themselves. They vied
with each other in seeing who could find the most
interesting things for the minister's collection; and
many specimens were found in the limestone rocks
along the river—petrified snails and worms; moss
so fairy-like that it could never be reproduced by
a chisel; and yet, there it was, each fairy sprig in
hardest stone.

These trophies of their rambles the boys would
bring in triumph to their pastor, who, when he
thought they were sufficiently interested, set about
having a small building erected for them in the vil-
lage. It contained a reading room and museum,
and had proved a strong counter-attraction to the
hotels. Since the building of the Reading Rooms the
museum at the Manse had been quite deserted, and
iow the boys went around examining everything
eagerly.

“Oh there is Willie McKinley’s caterpillar,’’ one
of the boys exclaimed. ‘‘ Do you remember the way
he gotit? He climbed nearly to the top of a cliff to
get an oriole’s nest which hung in the tree there, but
slipped and caught at a projection of limestone to
save himself, and it gave way in his hand (fortun-
ately he was holding by his other hand to the tree).
But afterwards when he examined the piece of rock,
he found a caterpillar all curled up, perfect as if it
had just taken its breakfast from a rose leaf that
morning, instead of several hundred years before.”

| CROWNED AT ELIM. 123

This, and many other incidents were recalled as
the boys passed around the room, and then they
found something new. In the centre of the table
they saw a miniature lake with a pebbled and
sanded bottom; on its waves Egyptian lotus plants
were floating, and in the centre a tiny fountain
played. It was designed and made by Casimir
Zamoyski.
Only six of the guests had been able to tell the
authors from which their quotations had been taken,
and these now came with their yachts (the English
walnut shells) in their hands, while the others looked
interestedly on. On one side of the lake in the
sanded bottom, a piece of gold glittered, and on the
other a ring was visible. Tiny candles of different t]
colors were lighted and put in the little crafts, which
were placed in a row and set adrift on the miniature
lake. Dr. Blair’s yacht was first, and it contained a
green candle; Hilda Bain came next, she had chosen
blue; Charlie Kinnear, pink; Trema, white; Beth,
yellow; and David McGlashan, red. The yachts all
started out bravely together, then Beth’s got a little
ahead, drifted over to the edge and stranded among
the pebbles under which the piece of gold glitter.
‘‘Beth!”’ exclaimed Charlie, ‘‘I did not think '
would do that.” !
“Do what?”’ asked Beth in surprise. i
‘““Marry for money.”
‘And neither I shall, just because a walnut shell |
‘ comes to grief among some pebbles. There now,
Mr. Kinnear, you can’t say much, for your own boat
is coming this way, too. See that!”’
At her words the pink candle fell overboard,

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A ate | mmm — eth tee

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124 CROWNED AT ELIM.

spluttered for a moment in the water and went out.
The floating candle changed the course of Charlie’s
boat, and being now capsized, it drifted over near
seth’s and lodged there. At which Beth made a
grimace and said ruefully:

“We're both in the same boat. No, 1 mean our
boats are in the same place.”’

‘Hello, Charlie!” said the doctor, looking up for
a moment from the serious contemplation of his own
boat; ‘‘so that is where you are stranded.

‘“May I a large house, and small garden have,
And plenty of books, and be free from all ills,
And have a wife rich enough to foot the bills.
“Was not that what your quotation said? That is
what it meant, anyway, by your present destination.
Well, I declare, Hilda! You and I are going to marry
for love.” Which remark, with its ambiguous mean-
ing, was received with a burst of laughter.

‘*Oh, you all know perfectly well what I meant,”
said the doctor, feigning displeasure. ‘‘ Charlie’s and
Beth’s boats were stranded over there near the gold,
and Hilda’s boat and mine have lodged on the oppo-
site shore near the ring. You didn’t laugh at them,
but you choose to laugh at us. It isn’t fair, is it,
Hilda?”

‘‘Searcely fair,”’ she answered, demurely.

Meanwhile, the red and white yachts continued
their course, each on opposite sides of the fountain.
Their owners were standing together, and were
watching their little crafts breathlessly. Which way
would they go? They floated about in an uncertai:
way for a time, then the red yacht went too near
to the spray of the fountain and the candle was put

1ed
in.
ere

CROWNED AT ELIM. 125

out, but it still continued onward till it came to
anchor among the lotus leaves. And now the white
yacht was left aione upon th2 broad deep. But after
a time it drifted into the current of the fountain and
slowly made its way round to where the red yacht
lay, till it, too, anchored among the lotus leaves.
And Trema, breathing an almost imperceptible sigh
of relief, looked up at the owner of the red yacht
with a happy light in her eyes that sent him floating
for a time on a tideless summer sea.

When refreshments had been served, the old year
was almost gone, and the company adjourned to the
drawing room; then, while the guests were waiting
for the chimes which would usher in the new year,
Trema went to the piano and she and Charlie sang a
little song, the air of which her father had composed
some weeks before. He had found the words in
Godey’s Magazine.

“Ring, _ut ring softly, O ye midnight bells!
Pass like a dream across the hills and dells;
Soft as the snow enfolding earthly things,
Falls on the night with sound like angels’ wings.

Ring, with a burst of deep and heartfelt praise,
Por all the happiness of passing days;

For every flower that grew beneath our feet,
Breathing around our lives its incense sweet.

O bells! ring out the memory of pain,

Tell softly how the flowers shall bloom again;
And hopes arise, like snowdrops from the snow
A starry crown—no more a cross of woe.

Ring softly, for the year is nearly dead,

O let him go with blessings on his head,
For if he brought us sorrowings and cares,
We entertained but angels, unawares.

Seetenerarstiteer me papeinanctecrmshasetumennesgenenioe es escent ee

CROWNED AT ELIM.,

Softly into silence, chime those dream-like bells,
Solemn midnight tolleth over hills and dells,
Holy voices murmur as the echoes fall,

‘Take the future trusifully, for God is over all.’”

The last notes of the song had just died away
when the bells chimed out merrily, proclaiming the
advent of the New Year. The guests rose to their
feet, greetings were exchanged, and the merry party
broke up.

CROWNED AT ELIM.,. 12

NI

CHAPTER XI,

HE Christmas season was past, and on the last
7 bright day of January a gloom hung over the
village, for it was said that Mrs. Bell was
dying. The villagers were collected in little knots
speaking of the sad occurrence, and everyone had
something to relate of kindly ministrations which
she had quietly performed.

‘‘And they say,” said one of the speakers, indig-
nantly, ‘that that boy, Leyden, has just broken her
heart. In the past few months he has gone from
bad to worse, till now he just about lives in the bar
room of the Red Lion, from which he goes reeling
home at night.”

But while the neighbors were recalling all the
neighborly acts which she had performed, Mrs. Bell
lay in the darkened chamber with closed eyes, past
helping any more, or being helped. No words came
from the pallid lips, but with nerve-sense sharpened
by illness, she was listening for the coming of her
boy. For she loved him yet, even though grief at
his actions was killing her. But the nights of
watching and days of mental agony were over; she
was too tired to think of it all now. She wanted
him; surely he would come! By the bedside Mr.
Bell sat with his head bowed dejectedly in his

j
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4 petiersecrenrer eee li sedate

128 CROWNED AT ELIM.

hands. The minister had been there, but was gone
now—gone once more on an errand to the Red Lion,
for he was known to have more influence with the
wayward boy than even his father. When David
McGlashan entered the sick roum again, he was
alone. He had brought Leyden home, but he was
not a fit object to enter a chamber of death. For
the boy had stopped in his mad career long enough
to know that his mother was seriously ill, and then,
to drown memory and conscience, drank again, so
on that afternoon he was unable to realize that he
would never again see his mother. When the min-
ister came in alone, Mrs. Bell opened her eves with
a look of wistful entreaty, then closed her fingers
about those of her husband, and so died.

David McGlashan was sick at heart. In his
library that evening, he thought now of his fruitless
work, and now of that mother lying cold in death.
How discouraging his work had been. What had
he accomplished in the ministry? I'e had planned
to do some great things, and now after four years,
he could see but small result of his work. Had he
not made a great mistake after all, in giving up his
art? Could he not have done more for the world
through noble pictures than he could accomplish
by such feeble efforts in Riverside? As he paced too
and fro, these questions thronged upon his troubled
mind, till he exclaimed at last in distressed agitation:
‘IT have labored in vain; I have spent my strength
for naught and in vain. Yet surely my judgment is
with the Lord, and my work with my God.”

When Leyden came to himself and realized that
his mother was dead, he was overcome with grief.

we

=~

CROWNED AT ELIM. 129

For, despite his actions, he had really loved his
mother. As there was no undertaking establish-
ment in Riverside, Mr. Bell’s two brothers had been
dispatched to a neighboring town for the coffin.
They did not return all night, and Leyden, watching
for them in the early dawn, saw the horses coming
along the road alone. Fearing he knew not what,
he ran out, and jumping into the sleigh, turned the
horses in the direction from which they had come.
He had driven about a mile, when he discerned some
dark objects on the snow, and was surprised to find
on reaching the spot that his uncles were lving there
in a drunken sleep. Fortunately, the night was not
cold or they would most assuredly have perished,
Evidently, the sleigh had been Overturned, for the
coffin had been thrown out —his mother’s coffin!
The scene sickened him; he lifted the coffin in and
managed to get the men in, too. He never before
seemed to realize what it meant to be helplessly in-
toxicated; yet his mother and his pastor had seen
him like that. And he was more to blame than these
uncles, for he had heard his father say that liquor
was always freely used at funerals in Seotland—their
old home—while every effort had been used to keep
him from its baneful influence.

But he knew how it had been with them. There
had been a glass or so at the villages through which
they passed, more glasses when they reached town,
and a bottle for company on the way home, and this
was the result. But for his conduct there was no
excuse. Out there in the snow, in the gray dawn
of that winter's morning, everything came vividly
before him—his mother’s early training, her blind

130 CROWNED AT ELIM.

idolatry am mezisureless love: his pastor’s watchful
care and ceaseless efforts, his faithful friendship, his
confidence in him when even his own father had cast
him off.

“Oh! i must have been mad! I must have been
mad!” he cried. ‘Yet, I honestly tried again and
again to stop drinking, but the craving for liquor
’’ And then, realizing his
own weakness, he fell on his knees there heside the
sleigh and lifted his heart in prayer to that Father
who alone was able to sustain him in the hour of
temptation.

So Leyden Bell went home, no longer a wayward,
self-willed boy, but an earnest young man, imbued
with a new strength; filled with new resolves, and
having a higher outlook upon life. Those who knew
him placed little faith in his reform, but the efforts
which had been made to save Leyden had not been
fruitless. The bread cast upon the waters was to
return after many days.

was too strong within me.

CHAPTER XII.

HE Boys’ Club frequently held debates at the
fi reading rooms, and occasionally it was their
custom to hold open meetings, when they
would proceed to astonish their friends with their
eloquence. On this particular occasion, the subject
was: ‘Resolved, that Wolfe was a Greater General
than Montcalm.” An unusual interest Was taken
in this debate, owing to the fact that Jean Baptiste
was to be the leader of the negative.

David McGlashan rightly surmised that Jean
would not attempt to speak on any subject with
which he was not perfectly familiar, because of his
imperfect English, so he took particular pains to
coach Farquhar Gilchrist, the leader of the afirma-
tive, in order that he might be equal to the young
Frenchman.

On the night of the meeting, the reading rooms
were crowded. Of course, it was a foregone con-
clusion that the affirmative would win, for Farquhar
had told some of the boys the points that he was
going to bring forward, aud they knew the Fre
man would have nothing to answer them.

“Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: Our
worthy opponent will attempt to show that Mont-
calm was a greater general than Wolfe. But this is

nch-

CROWNED AT ELIM. 131

132 CROWNED AT ELIM

a fallacious theory, and is not borne out by historical
facts.”’

Such was Farquhar’s grandiloquent opening.
He had practiced his speech as he went for the cows
or prepared the fodder for the cattle. It was his
maiden effort, but he did not intend, for that reason,
it should be a failure, like the maiden speeches of
Demosthenes and of Pitt. He rather admired the
style of the Duke of Grafton, but thought he would
be satisfied if he eo.'d equal the stirring utterances
of Patrick Henry. But now, just for the moment,
he forgot all about Patrick Henry. He was wonder-
ing what made his knees tremble so—just like the
first day he came downstairs after he had the scarlet
fever. And what was the matter with the people's
heads? They were swaying like hemlock trees ina
tempest. Was it minutes or hours since he had last
spoken? And what had he said ?

“Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: Our

worthy opponent will attempt to show

Again he stopped. He had a hazy recollection
of having made that statement before. This would
never Co. What was it that Mr. McGlashan had
told him about Wolfe? Fontenoy, Louisburg, Du
(Juesne—they were all a hopeless muddle. Quebec?
Oh, yes, Wolfe whipped Montcalm at Quebec. But
how had he arranged his sentences? Never mind,
it would have to be plain facts now without any
garnishing.

‘*Mr. President, I would ask did not Wolfe lick
Montcalm at Quebec? Who was it climbed the
heights, and stood suddenly in front of the seared

Who gained the victory at Du Quesne?

inhabitants ?

CROWNED AT ELIM. 133

Where was Montcalm when Wolfe scaled the heights
at Louisburg, licked the enemy who were hiding in
the fortress, and gave to England Cape Breton and
Prince Edward Island? Who was it made Mont-
calm give in that he was licked, so that he exclaimed
as he lay dying: ‘I am glad that I shall not live to
see the fall of Quebec’? Who was it, I ask? And
the answer is, Wolfe! | appeal to you, ladies and
gentlemen, do not these strong points show that
Wolfe was a greater general than Montcalm?”

There was a broad smile on the faces of the
audience, as Farquhar, Wiping the perspiration from
his forehead, sat down. And then they broke into
such a round of applause, that he was not sure
whether they were making fun of him or approved
his maiden effort. Before the noise had subsided,
Jean Baptiste was on the platform.

“IT do notice that my honorable friend does like
to ask many questions, an’ I shall like to ask some,
too. For instance, who was it captured the forts of
Ontario an’ Oswego, an’ took 1600 prisoner, great
stores of ammunition, provision an’ monnaie down
the St. Lawrence Riviére? Who was it captured
Fort William Henry an’ compelled the général to
surrender? Who was it attacked Abercrombie at
Fort Carillon, an’ made the général to flee? Was
it not the Marquis de Montcalm ?

“T am amazed that my honorable opponent
should say, ‘Where was Montcalm when Wolfe took
Louisburg?’ He far away. He know nutting about
Louisburg. He mind his own beesiness in Quebec,
He know nutting about Du Quesne. My friend,
Monsieur Gilchrist, he Say nutting about Marquis de

134 CROWNED AT ELIM

Vaudreuil, the Governor du Canada, who give Mont-
calm so leetle assistance; help him rarement; leave
him to combattre the British enemy by himself,
Then Vaudreuil, he have recourse to falsehood, an’
tell many lies about Montcalm, an’ try to have him
sent back to France. But Montcalm he do his duty,
an’ never mind. Then he find that the British make
bold effort to subdue French Canada, so he send for
more troops, an’ France she send him back 450 men,
an’ when he see so small number he sigh an’ say, ‘A
leetle is acceptable to him who has nutting.’

“Then he bring the whole militaire to Quebec,
but he want some more men to make guard bet ween
Saint Charles Riviére an’ the Falls de Montmorency,
but he have no more men, so it is nécessaire to call
young lads just fifteen. Then Montcalm he not take
off his clothes for tree whole months, but guardevery
approach to the citadel with great skill. But one
day they expect some provision, an’ Wolfe he find it
out, an’ he climb up so quiet. An’ when the guard
say ‘Who goes there?’ Wolfe he say in French, ‘ We
bring some provision. Be quiet; the British they
hear us.’ An’ the guard he not know, an’ soon the
British militaire they all go up very rapidement.
An’ that was how Wolfe captured Quebec

‘An’ now, gentlemen, you ask me which was the
better général, an’ I tell you this. Wolfe he was
adored by the British people. If he say any ting they
listen like he was an oracle. If he ask for more mili-
taire, they send him out great many men, an’ am-

munition, an’ provision, jut Montecalin he have
‘told about him, an’ if he send to France for more

provision they say: ‘When the house is on fire we

CROWNED AT ELIM. 135

can pay no attention to the stable.’ So if you ask
which is the greater général, I make response—the
Marquis de Montcalm.”

As Jean Baptiste took his seat he was cheered
quite as lustily as Parquhar, for contrary to all ex-
pectation the Frenchman had won the day.

At the close of the meeting, Casimir Zamoyski
and David McGlashan walked home together,

“What a failure Farquhar made,” said the min.
ister. “Itis most discouraging after all my work.”

“Oh, I think he did very well, considering that it
is the first time that he ever spoke in public, I re-
member students at the University whose first
attempts at public speaking were utter failures, but
who afterwards made such stirring addresses that
they were repeated outside of the University; our
countrymen were awakened out of their lethargic
sleep, and encouraged to strike another blow for
their hapless country.”

“You refer to Russia?”

‘Ah, no; to Poland.”

‘Poland is a part of Russia, is it not?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It has degenerated sadly
since the days when it extended from the Baltic to
the Black Sea, and from the Capathian Hills to the
Don. It has now scarcely a trace of its former glory
left.’

‘What caused the University students to make
such stirring addresses?”

“Oppression. To us the days of Macieiowice
and Praga were as a dream, though they were still
fresh in the minds of our fathers. But immersed in
study we might have been tempted to forget, and to

136 CROWNED AT ELIM.

accept the easy bondage of an Alexander. But from
the time of his death the fetters were stealthily
tighjened, till even we in the secluded halls of a
university, were compelled to stand by and see in-
dignities heaped upon us, and our liberties one by
one taken away. We thought the suppression of our
college paper was the greatest trial to which we
could be subjected; for during long decades of time it
had been the medium through which the students
kad been wont to express their best thought and
most briiliant fancies, but we had not ccunted on
Nicholas.

‘The suppression of our college debates followed.
This was not surprising. It was, in fact, necessary ;
for we poured all our eloquence, all our patriotism,
all our pent-up wrath, into our debates. It was
when they were suppressed that we struck the blow
for freedom. I have no doubt that we were a very
harmless looking lot of young fellows as we separ-
ated that November afternoon, but we had under-
taken no less a task than the capture of the Grand
Duke Constantine. He had just returned from St.
Petersburg, and we knew that he was at the Palace
Belvedere.

“Insurrection, war—they are horrible things. J
can never forget the look of the presence chamber as
I saw it last on that November night. Many of the
dead lay around in various postures, and the floor
was covered with blood. It had oozed out into the
hall, and made a sickening dark line down its entire
length. Still lying across a chair, where he had
fallen, was one of our comrade students—a fair
young lad, apparently uninjured, with a face of

et

CROWNED AT ELIM. 137

perfect peace, as if the spirit had departed while he
slept. Near him was one to whom death had not
come so easily. He was gashed in a horrible manner;
from his wounds the blood had trickled, and lay ina
dark pool on the floor. A servant in uniform sat
with his back to the wall, with eyes wide open and
staring as if riveted in horror on his Opponent. But
we looked in vain for the Grand Duke Constantine
among the fallen. The citizens of Warsaw were
with us to a man. General Cholopicki was the
leader. In a few days the insurrection had become
general, and we had great success. But after a time
a large army was sent into Poland by the Czar, and
we began to fear defeat. Cholopicki resigned, and
the dictatorship was given to Prince Adam Caar-
toryski. A strange turn of events surely, for Prince
Adam had been brought up as a hostage at the
Russian Court, anda friendship, Jonathanlike in its
constancy, had sprung up between him and the
young Alexander. But he has since told me that
notwithstanding this abiding friendship, there was
in his boyish heart an invincible aversion to all who
had contributed to the fall of the fatherland, and
though it was quite evident to him in those boyish
days that his royal young friend was innocent of any
part in Poland’s downfall, yet later, when Alexander
and Nicholas had successively ascended the throne,
and he saw that the extinction of Poland was a
fixed policy with them as it had been with former
Russian rulers, his friendship turned to hatred, and
he was glad to array an army against his powerful
foes. I know something of how his heart must have
turned with longing to anything Polish, for one day

138 CROWNED AT ELIM.

in St. Petersburg, when I was but a cuiid of seven, I
saw him seated on a peerless A-abian steed whose
trappings glittered with gola and jewels. As he
passed our carriage, he raised his hat to my mother,
and then he bent his handsome face for a moment
upon ine, while a smile, tender and pathetic, beamed
from his wonderful dark eyes. He knew that we,
too, were Poles in exile.”’

‘The insurrection failed in the end, did it not?”
the minister asked.

“Yes, and then for nine years I dared not return
to Russia. Madame Zamoyski has told you, I think,
about going to Russia and interceding on my behalf.
It was a great undertaking for a young woman not
yet nineteen to do. But though theCzar allowed me
to return home, he always mistrusted me. Every
place I went, everything I did, was watched. You
cannot imagine what a life I spent during those
vears in Russia; for while I held one of the highest
positions that it was possible fur the Czar to give,
still this suspicion macle my life a burden. I never
told Miriam; she does not even now know all my
reasons for hating Russia. But for the time there
seemed nothing for me to do, but to submit to being
shadowed. I knew that my life was perfectly blame-
less, and that no matter how closely these detectives
watched, they would find nothing wrong. When,
however, Madame la Princess told what was not
true, that was a different matter, and had I been
arrested I would have been shown little mercy. I
barely escaped arrest three times during our journey
to Galicia. It was by the greatest miracle that I

escaped. Ishould not have minded so much had I

CROWNED AT ELIM. 139

been alone, but it was my wife and child. Poor
Trema, she would keep saying, ‘You have not done
anything, papa, why should the officers try to take
you?’ She could not understand it at all. But she
soon forgot her terrors when we joined Prince Adam
at Lucerne. I nearly forgot to tell you that when
we reached his estate in Galicia, we found that he
had just started a few days before for his chateau,
near Montfermiel. At Vienna, I met an old friend,
Karl Czerny, who told me that he thought his Ex-
cellency intended remaining a few weeks at Lucerne,
so fortunately we arrived before he left. He was
overjoyed at seeing us, and took quite a decided
fancy to Trema. She was a little bookworm even
then, and when the Prince took her for trips on the
lake, she would entertain him with incidents of
Gritli, Morgarten, or Sempach—hattlefields famous
in Swiss annals, where a handful of mountaineers
confronted and put to flight the chivalry of Austria.
To his Excellency’s amusement, Trema would insist
on calling him Grandpa Czartoryski. She fancied
that some relationship existed between the Prince
and myself. She was not quite sure what it was,
but she thought that ‘grandpa’ suited him very well.
He took her with him on his rambles; together they
climbed the mountainsides, or they watched the sun
setting behind old Pilatus. For myself, I was too
much worried about the future to enjoy the beauties
of Lucerne.

“Well, here we are at home. That Jean Baptiste
is a rather smart young fellow. But you riust not
be discouraged if your boys do not make full-fledged
orators just at once. They will come to it in time.”’

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XIII.

REMA, on going to the kitchen one Spring day

yi to ask some question of Hannah, found that

worthy busy making pancakes, and shaving

up maple sugar to put on them. Trema was very

fond of maple sugar, and was curious to know how
it was made.

‘“‘Hae ye no seen the sugar made, dearie?” said
Hannah, in reply to her questions. ‘Then ye maun
see it at ance, for the makin’ time wull sune be ower,
I'll speak to Mistress Cairns this very day, whan she
comes in wi’ the syrup.”’

Mrs. Cairns was delighted at having the oppor-
tunity of showing Trema the sugar camp, and called
at Vinemount when her business in the village was
over, much pleased to think how surprised Beth
would be to see the unexnected visitor; for Trema
was always a welcome guest at Willow Bank.

The next morning, Mrs. Cairns prepared to go
to the sugar camp for the day. Trema watched her
in surprise as she brought from the pantry, bread
and butter, cold ham, jellies, pies, fruit cake, ete.

‘““Why, Mrs. Cairns!’ she exclaimed, “we shall
not eat all that in one day, shall we?”

Her friend smiled quietly. “Ye dinna ken the
appetite that is faund in the bush. An’ we'll no get

ee UM Th EU al

er ww ae ee GF

CROWNED AT ELIM 141

back till late, as Beth said she wud like tae hae twa
or three o’ the younkers at the sugarin’ aff, as ye
wud be there, Miss Trema.”

‘A pienic in the woods in the winter time! Oh,
won't that be lovely!” exclaimed that young lady,
and she was eager to help Mrs. Cairns and Beth fill
the lunch baskets.

In a short time the sleigh was driven up to the
door, the lunch baskets were put in, Mrs. Cairns,
Trema and Beth comfortably seated, and with a
crack of the whip they were off. As the
over the snow, Beth said:

“Trema, wouldn’t you like to know who are
coming to-night? Do you not like our lassies and
lads at Riverside that you are so indifferent ?”’

“Why, of course I like them; but when you didn’t

tell me who were coming, I didn’t like to ask. When
did you invite them?”

“IT sent Stewart to the village last night. Now,
guess who are coming.”’

“Well, Mr. Kinnear.”

“Oh, I knew you would think of him first.”
“And Dr. Blair,”

“Perhaps; he is not sure. There are quite a
number iil around here now.”

“Then there is Sandy MacDougal at the mill,
who is always white with flour. Do you think he
will get it brushed off for to-night, Beth?”

“Oh, I guess so. Who next?”

‘Jean Baptiste, will he be sare? And Farquhar
Gilchrist who made the fine speech, and who always
comes creaking into church in his best boots, which
he keeps especially for Sundays, creak and all. And

y sped along

142 CROWNED AT ELINV.

then there is Robert Mitchell. It would not do to
forget Robert, who sits like a martyr in church in his
stiff collar, which is so high that it makes him red in
the face and almost prevents him from turning his
head to see the clock at the back of the kirk. I
know he just counts the minutes until he can get
home and jerk of those relics of the Inquisition.”

“ Trema Zamoyski! How can you be so wicked ?
If all you go to the kirk for is to criticise our country
lads, you had better stay at home.”

“But, Beth, I cannot go to the kirk and keep my
eyes shut; and if I see things I must think,’

“Your thoughts should be on what the minister
is saying.”

“But you forget, the minister is not preaching all
the time.’

“Well, I will forgive you this once: but I do
believe you area flirt, for you have not mentioned a
girl’s name yet.’

“IT was going to guess the girls after I had
guessed the young men, for all I have to say is Mr.
MacDougal and his sister, Mr. Gilchrist and his
sister, and Mr. Mitchell and his sister, for they all
have sisters—unlike poor me. But I must not forget
Archie and Sandie McKinnon; I do hope they will be
there, for they are so full of mischief. Did you see
them last Sunday? You didn’t! Beth Cairns, where
do you keep your eyes? Why, they came into church
very gravely, and sat down in the seat behind the
family = I noticed that Archie carried a very
large book, which, however, had no resemblance to
a Bible. When Mr. McGlashan read the chapter,
Archie solemnly opened his huge tome, and what do

CROWNED AT ELIM. 143

you think it was? The Minutes of the Council—no
less.”’

‘The dreadful boys! But I am not surprised,
their pranks are the talk of the town, though River-
side is getting used to them now. It was before you
came to Vinemount, that they went into church one
Sunday dressed in their grandfather's clothes. The
style of them was so ancient that they seemed to
belong to the seventeenth century. It seems that
the boys had decided not to go to church that day,
but their father was inflexible, and said they had to
go. Service had begun when they came in and
marched up the aisle to the very front seat. But
they didn’t appear to hear much of the sermon—
neither did their father. The boys are a great trial
to him. Matthew Carruth, you know, makes his
home with the McKinnons, and he and Mr. Mce-
Kinnon have long talks about the boys, which the
rascals always manage to hear and repeat for the
edification of their comrades. On this particular
Sabbath, the conversation had taken a graver tone
than usual, and Archie and Sandy came and rehearsed
it to Stewart. Archie impersonated his father, and
Sandy was Mr. Carruth:

“*T juist canna understan’ it ava,’ said Archie,
imitating his father; ‘for I’ve dune ma best tae bring
the lads up in the richt wey, an’ yet they wull bring
ma gray hairs wi’ sorrow tae the grave. I thocht
whan I saw them come intil the kirk this mornin’,
that it wes the warst o’ a’ their wild escapades,
an’ their punishment wud hae tae be sair. It wes
scan’alous, profaning the holy sanctuary, an’ turnin’
it into a play-theatre.’

144 CROWNED AT ELIM.

“*Sean’alous! It wes that an’ waur,’ said Sandy,
in the solemn tones of Matthew Carruth. ‘But I
fear ye hevna been stricht eneuch wi’ the chiels, Mal-
colm. Ay, they need a straucht haund ower them.
What wes it I wes readin’ juist this mornin’? ‘Be-
cause sentence against an evil work is not executed
speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is
fully set in them to do evil.’ That’s it; ye’ve spared
the rod ower lang, an’ noo the hairts o’ the wastrels
are fully set tae dae evil. An’ their punishment wull
be the waur. Gin ye no dae yir duty, a higher power
wull mete oot their punishment tae them. For the
words 0’ oor Faither are: ‘They despised my judg-
ments, they walked not in my statutes; they have
hid their eyes from my Sabbaths, and Iam profaned
among them. Therefore will I pour out my indigna-
tion upon them.’’

““T knew we were in for it,’ continued Sandy,
resuming his natural voice, ‘when Mr. Carruth men-
tioned father’s lapse of duty, so it didn’t surprise us
when father invited us, a few minutes later, to the
barn. We don’t mind a flogging, Archie and me
don’t; but Mr. Carruth’s prayers! I tell you,
Stewart, ye ken naething aboot it. After father
was through with us, Mr. Carruth took us into his
room. He lectured us first, and then he prayed for
us. He took us over the forty and two journeyings
of the Children of Israel. Their transgressions were
all remembered, and we were likened to chem. When
he bade us remember the awful judgment that was
visited on Nadab and Abihu for wrongdoing, Archie
slippit awa oot, which I thought rude of Archie.
But when, in his prayer, he said that we conceived

CROWNED AT ELIM. 145

mischief, our thoughts were thoughts of iniquity, our
tongues had muttered perverseness, our feet ran to
evil, and we had made for ourselves crooked paths,
then I didn’t wait for anything more, but crept out
on my hands and knees—for I didn’t like to disturb
him—but I can’t think what he must have said when
he rose from his knees and found himself alone.’”’

Trema’s laugh rang out like a bell.“ Realiy, it
is wrong to laugh at such an incident, but I can’t
help it. Isn’t it a wonder that, after such an experi-
ence, they dared to carry on any more nonsense in
church?”

‘Yes, but it seems they are incorrigible.”

The conversation was now abruptly terminated,
for the smoke of the camp fire could be seen; and the
men, hearing the jingle of bells, stopped their work
to welcome the ladies. Then the hired man brought
more wood to replenish the fire, which had been built
between two huge logs, and Mr. Cairns, after seeing
that the lunch baskets were put away in the shanty,
returned to his work of watching the contents of the
enormous kettles, which were suspended on a pole
over the fire. Stewart and Jamie were carrying sap
in buckets, and Trema wanted to carry sap, too. So
they gave her a pail and Jamie, feeling very much like
a knight errant, went with her to show her where
the tapped trees were. The heat of the fire had dried
a large circular spot around the sugar camp, but
beyond that the snow was still deep, and sometimes
Trema would break through the crust, which was
becoming treacherous, at the imminent risk of spill-
ing her precious sap, yet, nevertheless, she succeeded
in bringing it in triumph to the camp.

See Pe a oe NE
- — a semaraie ae a

146 CROWNED AT ELIM.

What a delight it was to walk over the snow
and among the lofty trees; to watch the people
moving back and forth, while the woods echoed
with shouts of laughter; to poke the burning logs
till they shot up tongues of flame; to stir the seeth-
ing liquid in the caldrons, and when thirsty, to drink
the cold sweet sap—fit nectar for the gods. What is
to be compared to that delicious liquid? A_ single
sip in after years will turn our thoughts to the maple
sugar-making time of childhood, when with our tiny
pail we trudged over the snow, and looked with
wondering, apprehensive eyes at the silent, myster-
ious woods beyond the camp, and speculated as to
what lay beyond the forest. But when years have
passed, and the world beyond our childhood’s vision
has become a waste of commonplaces, our thoughts
turn backward longingly to the dim forest, where a
group of snow-covered hemlocks formed the gateway
to a land of mystic wonder.

Trema was not a child, and yet she took a child’s
delight in the novelty of it all. Never before had she
eaten dinner in a shanty thatched with cedar boughs,
and furnished only with benches and a table. The
day passed all too quickly, and then, when the sha-
dows were lengthening, the jingle of bells was heard,
and presently there came into view several sleigh
loads of merry youngsters. Beth and Trema went
forward to welcome them, and the camp, which had
grown quiet with the approach of night, took on a
gala appearance.

The young people possessed themselves of the
contents of the kettles, and pouring some of the hot
syrup on snow, proceeded to partake of taffy such

CROWNED AT ELIM. 147

as the confectioner’s skill has never yet equalled,
Then, when they had become satiated with the taffy
und warm sugar, they settled down on the logs
which had been drawn up around the fire, while its
glowing, ever-changing light made spectres of the
trees and a dim ghost-land of the woods beyond.

“What a fitting scene in which to tell ghost
stories,”’ said one. “Mr. Carruth! Where is Mr.
Carruth? He always has a never-failing supply of
them. I sometimes wonder if he doesn’t make them
up.”’

‘Make them up! Not a bit of it!” said Trema.,
‘‘He is too practical. Just look at his square hands
with their short square fingers.”’

‘““Ma haunds! Tellin’ ma character frae ma
haunds! Ye're no a witch, I houp,”’ said Matthew,
approaching them from near the kettles which he
had been watching.

““A witch! Do I look like one?” she asked, smil-
ing up archly into the stern eyes under the bushy
eyebrows.

‘Na, that ye dinna; but e’en his Satanic majesty
aye comes in a maist temptin’ guise. Ye ken that an

enchanter, a charmer, an’ a witch are a’ abomina-
tions unto the Lord; therefore, He commanded the
Children o’ Israel, sayin’: ‘Thou shalt not suffer a
witch to live.’ Fifty years syne, had ye talked o’
tellin’ by haunds, ye vrud sune hae fand yersel roastin’
ower the fire in place o’ that caldron o’ seerup.”’

Trema’s face crimsoned at the blunt, ungallant
speech which had been called forth by her thoughtless
words. She did not place much faith in palmistry,
but the desire seized her to shock him with her

148 CROWNED AT ELIM

knowledge of it. So her eyes were sparkling with
suppressed fun as she answered:

“The days of the infancy of the world are past.
Time was when people believed that all who read
the lines of the hand were in league with Satan, but
Science has thrown aside all such superstitious non-
sense; for it shows that the hand contains more
nerves than any other part of the system; that these
nerves form a kind of telegraphic communication
between the brain and the hand, conveying a current
of thought from the one to the other, so that on the
aand are registered the thoughts, desires and tenden-
cies of life. Now, here is Mr. Kinnear’s hand; from
it we may gather that he loves discipline, respects
law and order, is not much in love with poetry or
the fine arts, has little originality or imagination,
yet, nevertheless, he will succeed in practical things.
The lines are clear and well defined. The line of life
rising to the Mount of Saturn, denotes prosperity
resulting from energy and determination. There is a
break in this line—come nearer to the fire—yes, there
is a break, and one branch shooting over to the
Mount of Luna, shows that you will surely travel
abroad.”

While Trema was apparently seriously studying
the young man’s hand, she was in reality watching
Matthew Carruth, to see what he thought of a witch
using her craft under his very eyes. He had been
looking on in incredulous silence, till he caught a
flash of the roguish eyes, and then he exclaimed :

‘“Dinna pey ony heed tae her havers; she kens
naething aboot it. Can ye no see, man, that she is
describing ye frae what she kens 0’ yer pairts. She's

CROWNED AT ELIM. 149

no a fortune-teller ava.” And, much relieved, he
turned about to see how the sugar was progressing.

Mr. Kinnear, however, was much impressed with
the evident truth of Trema’s reading, and begged for
a fuller delineation of his hand, which she laughingly
consented to give. They were seated on a log near
the fire, and were so engrossed in the all-important
Subject that they did not notice that their pastor
was among them, ull they heard him say, ‘‘Good
evening, Miss Zamoyski,” in a coldly formal voice.
Trema looked up in pained surprise at the tone and
his manner of addressing her. Even on their first
acquaintance, she remembered, he had called her
‘“Miss Trema.’”’ She still held the young teacher’s
hand, and in her surprise she forgot to release it.
She was about to tell h'm of the delightful day she
had had, but he turned abruptly away and in a
moment he was gone. She heard the sleighbells
recede in the distance with a heavy heart. Why did
he leave so quickly? It is true, Mrs. Cairns had just
explained that he was on his Way to see one of his
parishioners who was ill, and had stopped only for a
moment, having been attracted by the light and the
sound of merry voices, yet for some intangible reason
she felt that he was angry with her. Had he seen
her telling fortunes? And did he despise her for it ?
They were so strict—these Scotch people; and yet she
had only wished to shock Mr. Carruth.

The palmistry had come to an inglorious termin-
ation. Trema sat apart from the others, subdued
and quiet, saying notiing nor joining in all their
fun, till they teased her for eating too much maple
sugar. But the hour had now grown late, the sleighs

150 CROWNED AT ELIM.

were brought around, the merry sugar-make~s were
soon comfortably seated, and with three cheers for
Mr. Cairns and three more for his family, they were
off for home.

The doctor and the minister had stayed by the
sick man’s side the whole night through, but in the
early hours of the morning the physician pronounced
his patient out of danger, and David McGlashan,
with a mind much relieved, started homeward. A
light snow had fallen during the night, and when he
passed the sugar camp all the weird, picturesque
beauty of the previous evening was ne. The fire
was still smouldering and, in a feeble effort to burn,
threw up a little cloud of smoke from a coverins of
gray ashes and dirty snow. The log near the fire—
the log on which they had sat—had its covering of
snow, too.

‘And so they are betrothed,” he thought. “ What
other explanation can be given of their absorption
in each other, sitting there in the firelight, hand
clasped in hand? And then Trema’s abashed look
when I noticed them. And yet I had thought that
daw of our drive, that day in which it seemed she had
come over the seas just for me, that——. No, no, I
was mistaken; it was only that she had a tender
heart and quick judgment, and she recognized some.
thing of my true, sad self under its repellant exterior.
Yes, it was al] a mistake.”

The chill of dawn was in the air, and he shivered.
The trees on either side of the road were stretching
out bare,cold branches towards each other, but they
were not more cold and desolate than his heart. The

CROWNED AT ELIM. 151

sun was rising as he turned into the avenue at the
Manse. He roused himself as from a dream.

‘Tired and lonely! Well, what of that? David
McGlashan, be strong. Do the work faithfully that
is given you to do, and if you are to be denied life’s
supreme gift, he brave. There is enough sorrow in
the world without you repining.”’

He said the words aloud, as if to reassure himself,
but they echoed strangely over the cliffs in the quiet
winter morning, and came back to him in bitter
mockery.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XIV.

IVERSIDE had been thro-vn into an unusual
R excitement. May third was Trema’s birth-
day; she was going to give a party, and
almost every young man and maiden in the whole
countryside had been invited. So for two weeks the
girls had been in a flutter getting new gowns, while
their brothers looked on ia lofty indifference.
“Fancy making such a fuss over a party,” they
said, ‘‘a new tie was all they would get.” When
the much-talked-of evening came round, Vinemount
was in its gala dress. Ferns and vines and palms
decorated every nook and corner, while wax candles
in branching candelabra shed a soft light over the
rich furniture and costly bric-a-brac. Madame Za-
moyski, in an elegant gown of purple brocade and
cream lace, stood just within the drawing room
door to receive the guests. Trema assisted her, clad
simply in a dainty frock of white muslin. A party
of Toronto folk had arrived in the afternoon, and
the matrons now stood near at hand in superb
costumes of silk and velvet. The gentlemen were in
the library; among them was the minister.
It was, to many of the lads, their first view of
the interior of Vinemount, and its stately elegance
somewhat overawed them. It required all Trema’s

CROWNED AT ELIM. 153

tact to make them feel at ease in their unaccustomed
surroundings. But David McGlashan presently came
to her aid, and with his kindly ways did much to
make the awkward lads feel at ease. After watching
his efforts for a while, the young hostess lifted her
eyes full of gratitude to his face. There was rest-
fulness and sweet confidence in that quiet gaze, but
as he looked the expression changed to a timid
questioning, and though he turned away with a
lighter heart than he had carried since that memor-
able night at the sugar camp, yet he was sorely
perplexed. Did she not understand why he had
been so formal of late? How could she expect
him to act otherwise under the circumstances ?
Charlie Kinnear came just then, and Trema went
forward to meet him. But even jealous eyes could
detect nothing more than simple friendship in their
greeting. David McGlashan, who was watching
Trema closely, thought she even preferred that
young Fairgrieve from Toronto, And truly there
had been no doubt about her pleasure at meeting
Gardiner Fairgrieve. Had he not been her neighbor
in the city? Who but Gardiner had assisted her
through the first awful experiences of skating ;
taught her to steer her toboggan down the slide.
and laughed at her first early attempts at snow-
shoeing? Had he not for six long years played the
part of a good-natured brother ? And, more than
all, he was familiar with that old life which she had
now turned her back upon forever. So there had
been unconcealed joy in her welcome when he ariived
that afternoon. And now, with a most bewitching
smile playing about her lips and shining in her eyes,

CREASES

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ST TT ae

154 CROWNED AT ELIM.

she was introducing this fair Adonis to the lassies
and lads of Riverside. It seemed to the minister as
he watched the two, that Trema looked more like the
mischievous young maiden whom he had found pick-
ing berries in his meadow, than the Miss Zamoyski
whom he knew of late, for recently a change had
come over her which he could scarcely define. When
he first knew her she was a mischievous, fun-loving
child. For the past few months, however, while her
manner was still charmingly winning, there was
noticeable a subdued gentle dignity which had no
trace of mischief in it. What unseen power had
wrought this marked difference? He could not tell.
He had studied over the question as over a knotty
point in apologetics, but no solution came; philoso-
pher though he was, he had not vet learned to
analyze all the mysterious influences of the human
heart.

The musicians touched their instruments softly.
The couples were forming for the opening quadrille,
and David McGlashan, watching the young people,
saw Gardiner Fairgrieve bend his head a moment
above that abundant, fluffy hair; saw Trema smile
into the handsome, boyish face; lay her hand on the
black sleeve and move to the upper end of the draw-
ing room with that complete grace which was char-
acteristic of all her movements. The young minister
turned suddenly round and sat down. He would
go home; he would be much happier in the quiet
seclusion of his own library. But he could not act
like a school-boy of fifteen; he could not leave so
early without offending Casimir and Madame Za-
moysk: There were some guests in the library who

se J

ua OD @®W

CROWNED AT ELIM. 155

were not dancing; he would talk to them, but he
would not even glance at that floating vision in
white. She was a flirt. She had encouraged Charlie
Kinnear, and now she was giving her smiles to that
young Fairgrieve.

Trema, looking up, encountered his stern glance
and almost quailed before it. In what had she
offended him? But a short time ago she had thought
that he was no longer angry with her; for one hour
she had been entirely happy. Now it was the old
state of things back again. Were they never to be
friends? She tried to look happy, but tears were
too close at hand for smiles. Then her wounded
pride asserted itself. If he chose to be angry at her
for no reason whatever, he might remain angry.
She was not dependant on his friendship. So when
Gardiner came to take her to the dining room, where
refreshments were being served, she gave him such a
dazzling smile as almost turned that young gentle-
man’s head. She was glad that David McGlashan
Was sitting near them. She laughed and chatted
gaily; she would show him that she was not to be
subject to his whims and fancies, nor be annihilated
by astern look.

David McGlashan saw and noted all in grave
silence. The fit of petulance was gone, and he was
again his patient, lonely sclf. He noted with a pang
how well Trema and Gardiner Fairerieve were suited
to each other; both were young, graceful and hand-
some. As he watched them he felt suddenly old; a
wide, impassable gulf seemed to Separate him and
Trema.

‘‘Lady-fingers or kisses, which will you have?”

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156 CROWNED AT ELIM.

asked Trema, holding a plate of dainty confections
before her friend.

“Oh, I'll take kisses; I like them the best,” an-
swered Gardiner, gaily.

“Indeed! Then, sir, I'm ifraid you will not be
able to say to your sweetheart on your return as
Coriolanus said to Virgilia:

“*That kiss I carried from thee, dear,
And my true lip hath virgined it e’er since.’”’

Gardiner was silent; he always felt defeated
when Trema quoted Shakespeare.

“IT do not remember reading Coriolanus,” he said
at last, flushing. Trema, too, was awkwardly silent.
She was annoyed that she had quoted those lines.
Not that she cared for Gardiner; he was used to her
nonsense, and it was stupid of him to take her
seriously like that, but it happened that when she
had spoken, a hush had fallen for a moment on the
merry company, and others might have heard that
inopportune quotation. They left the dining room
almost immediately after, and excusing herself from
Gardiner, Trema went into the library and sat down
by the open window. She was vexed with herself,
and wondered how it was that people who were
credited with a fair amount of common sense could
say and do the silly things that she was constantly
saying and doing.

Her meditations were interrupted by Charlie
Kinnear, who leaned over the back of her chair and,
as if continuing that conversation which she and
Sardiner had so ignominiously dropped, said:

“IT know Coriolanus must have been thinking of

\-

CROWNED AT ELIM. 157

57
Trema Zamoyski instead of Valeria, when he said
that she was
“*Chaste as the icicle
That's curded by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian’s temple.’

‘For you are divinely fair, Miss Trema, and good
as you are fair. If you would only let me have this
white rose I would keep it always. Do let me ha ve
it,”’ he pleaded.

Trema turned towards him in surprised wonder,
only to see David McGlashan approaching. He did
not hear what Charlie said, but he guessed much
by the attitude and pleading tone. He was a trifle
paler than usual, and sad reproach was written all
Over nis speaking face. Trema felt like a culprit
when she saw him.

‘Pardon me for interrupting you, Miss Zamoy-
ski,’’ (he did not even glance at Charlie) ““but do
you know where your father is? [| should like to
speak to him before I leave.”

“T will find him for you,” Trema said eagerly.
She wanted to show him that she did not care for
Charlie’s lover-like attentions, “| saw him but a
moment ago. Please excuse me fora moment, Mr.
Kinnear.”

She found her father and left the tw
but she did not return to the library. The musicians
were playing again; there would be waltzing soon,
but waltzing had lost its charm; so she slid out to

the conservatory, where the

oO together,

air was deliciously ccol,
A door from the conservatory opened to the lawn:
she stood in the door and ]

-aned her head against
the casement.

aNd dal O* | some ene

158 CROWNED AT ELIM,

“The evening began so lovely,” she murmured,
“but it is ending wretchedly. He thinks I am a flirt;
he will never like me again.”

She heard a quick step behind her; he was going
home that way. It was shorter than going out by
the front gate and up the avenue.

**Here alone, Miss Trema? I am surprised.”

She fancied she detected a touch of sarcasm in
the tone. He was extending his hand in farewell;
in a moment he would be gone. She longed to Say,
“TI have made you angry; forgive me, and let us be
friends again;’’ but she could not. That awe of
him, which she sometimes felt when in his presence,
was creeping over her. He still held her hand, for he,
too, was trying to speak, but he was choosing his
words, lest in his abruptness he should unintention-
ally offend her.

‘““Trema.”’ he said, and the simple name thrilled
her; ‘‘when the glamor of youth is upon us, we
cannot realize that there is such a thing as sorrow
or broken hearts in the world. But, child, do not
toy with people’s hearts, they are too precious a
commodity.”

She took her hand away from his suddenly. He
not only thought her a coquette, but he believed her
incapable of realizing the pain that such heartless-
ness would inflict.

‘“‘T see you are vexed; but you know, Trema, you
cannot marry both of them.”

“TI presume you refer to Mr. Kinnear and Mr.
Fairgrieve. Perhaps it would be interesting to you
to know that I do not intend to marry either of
them.”’

CROWNED AT ELIM. 159

And then, after a long pause, during which the
temper went from her eyes, she said in a voice soft
and tremulously low:

‘When I was a child we were in Switzerland and
I looked on Mount Blane, and I never again saw
majesty or greatness in mountains which were mere
foothills.”

At her words he caught his breath. Then there
Was some one infinitely above Charlie and Gardiner
Fairgrieve enshrined in the young girl’s heart, but
who it was he did not dare to guess. He noticed the
implied compliment and his heart sank, for it could
not be that she would place him so much above
those two. For a while he regarded her irresolutely,
and then something in her face gave him courage.

“Darling, do I dare to ask it? Is it me you
love?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so low that he could scarcely
hear it, but a look of tender, grateful peace stole into
his eyes as they lingered on her upturned face, and a
silence fell between them. The crocusus drooped
their heads in the moonlight, and the tulips filled the
air with fragrance. The strains of the orchestra
swept past them, bearing them into an enchanted
land. Like Sappho and Phaon they had come into
their souls’ seaport, and stood upon a strange new
shore, resplendent with life’s early dawn.

David McGlashan went next morning to have an
interview with the father of his loved one. He was
impatient to claim her for his very own. Casimir
Was in the garden examining a new species of rose,

160 CROWNED AT ELIM.,

and the minister plunged into his subject at once.
Mr. Zamoyski heard him to the end and then said
gravely:

‘‘My friend, this is a great surprise, and it pains
me beyond measure to have to refuse your request.
But it can never be. I have made other plans for
Trema. Please do not misunderstand rie, I believe
you to be entirely worthy of her; but we come ofa
different race, and her future has been mapped out
for her. I do not need to remind you who the Za-
moyskis are. As close friends of the kings of Poland,
they held the highest positions in the land. Yan
Casimir Zamoyski was Castellan of Cracow, Starosta
of Little Poland, and Chancellor of the Kingdom,
and he was only one of our illustrious line; but all
this is a matter of history. Yet I feel sure that if
you knew more of my personal history, of my love
for my country, and all I have suffered for her sake,
my refusal would not seem so cruel to you. But,
while all hope for myself is ended forever, I still have
a great desire to see Trema married to one of my
own race—a Polish gentleman—and to see her living
in the land of my fathers. With this object in view,
I have educated her with the greatest care, and I
have instilled into her susceptible heart a love for
Poland as great, almost, as my own. And now
Madame Zamoyski and I have deci«'-d to send her
to St. Petersburg and——”

‘*No more need be said,’ David McGlaskan broke
in brusquely. ‘You wish your daughter to make a
brilliant match. It isa praiseworthy motive. You
may find one who is able to bestow more honors
upon her; but one who loves her better, never!”

CROWNED AT ELIM. 161

Saying which, he turned on his heel and strode
quickly away,

David McGlashan had lived so long for a higher
purpose than mere social prestige, that he was not
prepared for Casimir Zamoyski's refusal. seing en-
gaged in winning souls for the Prince of Kings he
had given little thought to social distinctions. Now
it was brought home forcibly to him that “he was
of a different race."’ He was disappointed, humbled,
chagrined. Alas, yes, the son of humble Scotch
parents had presumed to ask in marriage the hand
of a Zamoyski. But had not Casimir Zamoyski, not-
withstanding his blue blood, found him, David Mc-
Glashan, a congenial companion? Were not his
ideals in life quite as high as those of the Polish aris-
tocrat? What did he lack in mental accomplishments
or worldly possessions that the other possessed ?
The injustice of it! These were the thoughts which
ran riot through his brain as he paced his library
floor—a habit he had when greatly excited or dis-
turbed. His heart was sore with bitter disappoint-
ment and wounded pride, and as he strode back and
forth his lips were quivering.

And then, in the midst of those angry thoughts,
came misgivings. Was it not a selfish love that
would keep a beautiful young girl like Trema Zamoy-
skiin a place like Riverside, when, undoubtedly, she
Was fitted to adorn a larger sphere? And then her
aristocratic birth. He knew only too well that it
was all true; before her father mentioned it he knew
of the fame of the illustrious house of Zamoyski,
While he—why he was only a poor Scotch boy till a
generous merchant lifted him out of penury and

162 CROWNED AT ELIM.

placed him in an independent position. And so
Resentment and Justice wrestled together in the
heart of the man, fierce and long as the conflict at
Peniel; but in the end Justice won. He would no
longer feel bitterly towards Casimir and Madame
Zamoyski. It was right that they should seek their
daughter's highest good. He must not narrow her
life down to the lines which set a bound to his. She
had been educated with the idea of fill’ng a position
of distinction and of returning to Poland. He tried
to imagine how Casimir Zamoyski would feel when
this, his last hope, was blighted. Then, too, not
only was Riverside devoid of cultured society, but
the simple people were unable to appreciate her gifts,
and often commented on things which they did not
understand. In time she might come to see this
and to weary of the quiet village life. She might
even regret the step she had taken, and that, he felt

quite sure, would kill him,

‘And now I must tell Trema,”’ he said at last.
‘Poor little girl! Will she care very much or will
she accept in a quietly philosophical way the decision
of her parents? I have no doubt she will feel very
badly just now, but she will go away and in a short
time she will forget this little experience; but for me
there can never be another Trema.”’

He found her in the garden, and she went to him
at once, and took his hand in both of hers.

‘‘T see you know all; papa has told you that all
must be at an end between us.”

‘He said he could never give his consent to our
marriage.”

CROWNED AT ELIM. 163

‘And, of course, I would never marry anyone
without my parents’ consent, Did he tell you I was
to go to St. Petersburg soon ?”’

“Right away?”

“Yes, just as soon as a letter comes from my
grandmamma,. But the letter may never come.”

“But if it does, and you go to St. Petersburg?”

“I shall not marry; I shall remain as I am till
my dying day.”

His grave gaze sank down searchingly into the
shadowy depths of her dark blue eyes, and he saw
there firmness and unfailing devotion, and he knew
she would keep her word.

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164 CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XV.

ASIMIR and Madame Zamoyski were looking
C anxiously now for a letter from the Countess,
but weeks passed and no word came. Then
a new trouble arose which quite put their disap-
pointment in the background. A stranger one day
arrived in Riverside, and claimed to be the true
owner of Vinemount. His name was Ralph Murray,
and he was a nephew of Robert Murray, the founder
of Riverside. He claimed that Vinemount had been
willed tc his father, Charles Murray, by his uncle,
with the stipulation that his widow, Mrs. Robert
Murray, should occupy the place till her death. In
the meantime, Charles Murray and his wife had both
died; the children had been scattered, and it was
only within the past few months that he had learned
that such a will existed, and that Mrs. Robert
Murray had been dead for fifteen years.

Casimir Zamoyski refused to give up his claim to
Vinemount, saying that Blackburn Montgomery had
held undisputed possession for ten years, which made
his title good; and the case was carried to the courts.
When judgment had been given in favor of the new
claimant, Casimir Zamoyski appealed to a "igher
court, but only to lose in the end. Worse than all,
he had spent so much money over the suit, that most

CROWNED AT ELIM. 165

of his savings were gone; and when the rich furnish-
ings of Vinemount had been sold, he had little more
than enough to buy a small bush farm some miles
rom Riverside, with a clearing of about two acres.
A log house had been built by the former owner, and
this Casimir made as comfortable fi r his family as it
was possible to do.

Everyone was surprised at the way that Trema
hore the change from her beautiful home to a log
cabin; but they did not know that she welcomed
poverty, as she fancied that it would hasten her
marriage with David McGlashan.

She saw him often during those days of upheaval
in her Vinemount home. He bought many of the
treasures which they prized the most highly, and
Trema was glad to see them go into his possession,
He never spoke of their marriage again. It was a
forbidden subject. She just received a look now and
then, which showed that he had not forgotten, nor
ever would forget. One of his sympathetic looks
gave her courage to face any change, however dis-
agreeable it might prove to be. But she found a
novelty in her new life which was not altogether
unpleasant.

The woods were very pleasant in the spring days,
whea the Zamoyskis first went to their new home.
Red, white and blue hepaticas bloomed in profusion,
while purple and yellow violets nestled in the shade
of graceful fronds of maidenhair fern. But, unfortun-
ately, necessity had to be considered before beauty,
so the underbrush was cleared up; the violets, fern
and columbine were sacrificed to the fire, and during
the last days of May, Trema helped her father plant

166 CROWNED AT ELIM.

potatoes and Indian corn. Many an animated dis-

cussion arose as to how many “sets” of potatoes
should be put ina hill, ete. For Trema, when visit-
ing at her friends, had paid particular attention to
all those little things, while her father had been too
absorbed in weightier affairs to notice such trifn;
matters. Indeed, he found, after a time, that it she
ventured an opinion at all, it was to be relied upon.
So he gave her full charge of the vegetable garden.

As Casimir knew little or nothing about chop-
ping, it was necessary to hire assistance. By july,
however, ten acres had been cleared, and they had a
logging “bee.” Early in the morning the fallow
was astir with men and oxen. The teamster would
select a log too large to be moved by the animals,
and around this would commence to build his log-
heap. All the logs near at hand were drawn in front
of the large log, and the men with hand-spikes rolled
them one on top of the other, till the heap was about
eight feet high and fifteen broad. All the rubbish
was then picked up, and in the evening the completed
heaps were set fire to.

Taken altogether, it was an exciting day, for
while the woods echoed with the shouts of the men
and Loys, the house was made hvely by the presence
of the neighboring farmers’ daughters, who had
kindly offered their services to assist in the cooking
and wait on the tables. But they were rewarded
when evening came by having a dance in the barn,
which was gaily lighted and decorated for the occa-
sion, Outside, the burning log-heaps blazed cheerily,
and sent shafts of ruddy light through long vistas

& of oak and maple, lighting up the faces of the youths

Len — OP et OP

Wwe

CROWNED AT ELIM. 167

who preferred sitting in the ruddy glow to dancing
to the inspiriting strains of the musician’s violin.
There was little formality at these rustic dances.
The young men appeared in the same clothes they
had worn while logging in the fallow, but as this
was an unavoidable necessity, no one thought of
criticising them.

After the logs were burned, the ashes were raked
up into heaps while hot, and taken to an ashery by
the side of the river to be made into potash, which
always found a ready sale. The “rail cuts” were
split into quarters, and drawn off to the site of the
fences. The fallow was then broken up, so that by
the last of August it was ready for sowing fall wheat.
So the summer was a very busy one to the Zamoyskis.
In the autumn, however, Trema was able to spend
more of her time in a social way. Among other
amusements, there were husking and apple bees to
attend. The former usually took place in the barn,
but for the apple bees the young people would
gather in the large kitchen, which, with its painted
floor, polished hearth, glistening delf, and snowy
curtains, was a pleasant place for any gathering. In
the center of the room two or three tubs of apples
were placed. The young men brought apple-paring
machines, and soon the pared apples were flying into
receptacles; while the girls quartered and strung
them on long strings, and then they were ready to
be hung up and dried. When the apples were all
finished, the room was cleared up and supper was
brought in, after which the rustic fiddler appeared,
and dancing was kept up till the small hours of the
morning,

168 CROWNED AT ELIMI.

In this way the autumn passed, and Trema came
to the conclusion that life in the bush was not such
a very trying experience as people imagined it to be
She was looking forward to helping her father make
maple sugar in the spring, but her father was not to
make maple sugar or fulfil any of his plans.

As he did not have any hired he!p, he was much
outside, and suffered from exposure to the rains of
the late autumn. He took a severe cold, which
ended in a serious illness. \Veeks passed, and he
grew no better. Then there came a day when he
was more restless than usual and more racked with
pain. But as evening came on he fell into a fitful
sleep, and Trema and her mother, seeing that he was
sleeping, slipped away for a much-needed rest. He
had been sleeping for an hour and dreaming of a
celestial choir, when there was mixed with his dream
another sound, which, as he came gradually back to
waking consciousness, resolved itseif into a chiming
of bells, which came far and faint through the snow-
laden air. As he listened, the voices of the bells
seemed to repeat, as in a refrain, the words of
the song which they had sung last New Year's Eve:

“Ring! but ring softly! oh ye midnight bells,
Pass like a dream across the hills and dells.
Soft as the snow enfoiding earthly things,
Falls on the night with sound like angels’ wings.’’

He listened for awhile in a state of semi-con-
sciousness, and then wondered dreamily what the
bells were chiming for. It must be Christmas Eve!
Yes, and it is Christmas Eve, and to-morrow there
will be a festival in the homeland, and once again, as
in childhood’s days, services will be offered in that

CROWNED AT ELIM. 1c9

cathedral faraway. Before his closed eves visions of
bygone services came with a vivid clearness. Heis
in the cathedral as of old. The people have gathered
and are kneeling together, and the lights of nave and
transept shine on their bowed heads, on the mal-
achite columns and shafts of lapis-lazuli. Then the
people, with wrapt, urturned faces, watch the priests
in their garments of embroidered gold, who throw
open the doors of the ikonostas and expose the holy
of holies to their view. The venerable patriarch lifts
a copy of the Sacred Word and bears it to the centre
of the church, where it is opened and the reading of
the Word begins. The service is ended at last, the
priests again retire into the holy of holies, the golden
gates are closed, and the worshippers melt silently
away. How nice it is to be home once more!

“No,”’ he murmured at last, wearily, ‘‘I’m not at
home, and I’m not a+ church, but in a rude log cabin
in a Canadian forest, and the trees are creaking
dismally.’’ Then, after a time, his mind wandered
again to childhood’s days, and he said soothingly :

‘“Never mind, mother; don’t fret for your old
home. When I am a man I'll free Poland, and we
will go and live at the palace, and everything will be
as it was when you were a child; and Prince Adam
will be king. Won't he be a noble king, mother?”

Then the ycars pass as nothing, and he says,
‘Oh, mother, I've failed! The dreams of my life
were all a mockery! I did not free Poland, and I
didn’t even retain your love; for you did love your
boy once, but you didn't like my Miriam.”

Two hours more pass, and then Madame Zamoy-
ski, who was again by his side, bending over him in

170 CROWNED AT ELIM.

anxious ministration, heard the one word “Miriam.”
And with that name on his lips, the poor, tired heart
is still forever.

As the bereaved wife knelt by the side of that
loved form, and looked on the closed eyes and quiet
hands, on the lips sealed with the seal of the great
mystery, she longed to join him in that restful sleep ;
to lie still, like him, with every task completed; to
have done forever with her life, which woula now be
one of struggle, and care, and heartache, and sorrow.
Yet she did not wish him back; for often, during the
past months, as she had watched him bearing hard-
ships and unaccustomed labor, she had looked for-
ward into the years and shuddered; for she saw
ahead only a long road c.er which she must plod
wearily, and illumined by no ray of light for the
future. And then she knew that he had intended
to make so much of his life. But now, when the
harvest of his vears was garnered, it showed only
defeat, and heartache, and poverty; with the grim
reaper laughing ‘mockingly as, with sickle in hand,
he watched the last light chaff of youthful dreams
ranish forever. So, kneeling there beside him, she
breathed a prayer of thankfulness that he would
never again have to meet discouragement or failure,
or be called upon to take up a weary task or unac-
customed burden. And she knew that though from
the world’s standpoint he had failed, yet when the

harvest of his sou! lay winnowed, such imperishable
wealth would be found in the golden grain of pa-
tience, and meekness, and faith, and love, which he

had always displayed, that many a more successful
life would give its a// to possess a tithe of it.

CROWNED AT ELIM. 171

Trema was inconsolable at the death of her
father. She could not look at the awful fact in the
way which her mother did. He was gone and her
life would be empty without him. He who had
always made the world such a pleasant place for
her was dead! And while he had gone out to meet

death, she had been sleeping! How could she sleep

and miss his last word, his last smile? These were
her thoughts as, sobbing convulsively, she bent over
his cold form.

When the funeral was over, Madame Zamoyski
had leisure to think of the future. Should she remain
on the farm, or should she sell it, and try to earn her
livelihood in some of the callings open to women?
She preferred the latter course, but there seemed to
be nothing that she was really fitted to do. So she
decided to remain on the farm for the present, and
make one more appeal to the Countess. If that
failed, she would allow Trema to marry David Me-
Glashan. And she believed that with a little hired
help, she would make a tolerabl:; successful farmer.

January was drawing to a close, and as Trema
one day walked briskly homeward in the evening
twilight, she saw a distant, solitary figure coming
towards her. At sight of him she caught her breath
for something in his glowing face and buoyant step
told her that he had pleasant news for her.

‘At last, myown!”’ he said when he had reached
her, taking possession of her two little gloved hands.
“T have just seen your mother, and she no longer
objects to our marriage. It only remains for you to
say when it will take place.’’

CROWNED AT ELIN.

Trema looked away from his radiant face, past
the dark fir woods glowing in the sunset, and said:

“T think there is no reason for delay. Why
should our marriage not take place in February ?
It is a lucky month.”

‘““Trema, Trema!’’ he exclaimed, with mock
gravity, “I am afraid you will not make a model
minister’s wife. You will shock every one with your
superstitious nonsense.”

“Well, perhaps, you had better marry Miss
Hines. Iam sure she would just suit you, with her
sharp nose and goggles.”

“T think I had better go back with you, and see
what your mother thinks of the wedding being next
month,” he said, ignoring her remark about Miss
Hines. So they turned about, and walked swiftly
across the snow—two dark figures clearly outlined
against the winter landscape.

The wedding was in the kirk, and but little pre-
paration was made for it. Trema wore a court
dress of her mother’s, of white brocaded satin, which
in some way had survived the various fortunes of
nineteen years; and in it she looked a queen. The
church had no decorations, no ushers, no white satin
ribbons fencing in distinguished guests. But the sun
shone brightly on the bride and groom, and on the
happy, smiling faces of the villagers and country-
folk, who came from far and near, to see the ‘‘ meen-
ister marrit tae a wee bit o’ a lassie, wha shud be at
skule for twa year or mair,”’ and who flocked about
the happy couple, when the ceremony was ended, to
offer congratulations and every form of happiness.
Leyden Bell was there, reflecting in his face his

CROWNED AT ELIM. 173

pastor’s happiness; and Matthew Carruth was
there, his rugged face all aglow, and for once he
had no word of reproach, but laid his hand on the
fair head of the bride, and reverently said:

“The Lord make his face to shine upon thee; the
Lord lift up the licht o’ His countenance upon thee,
lassie, an’ gie thee peace.”’

And during it all, Trema was radiantly and con-
fidently happy. In the last few moments she had
severed the tie which bound her to her race, with its
memories of gorgeous pomp and power, of stern
grandeur, of heroic suffering, and pathos of defeat.
Yet she severed that tie freely, gladly. But as David
McGlashan watched his fair, young bride smilingly
receive the congratulations of the plain country
folk, his heart grew heavy with an indefinable fear.
She reminded him of some bird of Paradise, whose
home was not on the prosaic earth, but amid the
soft spiendors of a rainbow-tinted sunset. She did
not seem to belong to the common work-a-day
world, but to a beautiful world, where there was
beauty for the eye and food for the mind; and where
soft voices blended in cultured intercourse; where
poverty was not, but where gateways bore armorial
bearings, where halls were colonades of sculptured
pillars; where ceilings were frescoed, and walls were
tapestried, and fountains sparkled in a wealth of

greenery. For a moment there was a rift in the
glamor of romance which had surrounded him for
the past few months, and he realized that her very
tove for him had doomed her forever to a life of
daily sacrifice in uncongenial surroundings. Duty
bade him stay in Riverside, while every trait of her

174 CROWNED AT ELIM.

character, her mental accomplishments, irresistible
charm and unequalled grace, fitted her for a wider
and higher sphere. The old distrust for ed itself
upon him. Would she not grow weary of Ri, =rside,
and of him? Sut just then she looked up, her eyes
shining with happy confidence in him, and he cast his
fears to the winds. He had no ground for his fear;
it was only a morbid fancy; in the hour of his
marriage he would be happy.

CROWNED AT ELIM

CHAPTER XVI.

HREE months had passed since that February
zi day—three months of uninterrupted happiness.
The people of Riverside almost idolized the fair
bride at the Manse. Mrs. Lindsay, the housekeeper,
who had had misgivings about placing the reins of
government in a “bairn’s’ hands, had been won
over by the unexpected knowledge which Trema dis-
played in the secrets of housekeeping; while Jeanie
openly worshipped her young mistress, and went
about the house singing:

“Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
Her neck is like the swan;
Her face it is the fairest,
That ’ere the sun shone on,”

till the old Scotch favorite threatened to pall on vhe
hearers. The third of May had come round again,
and Trema was eighteen. Madame Zamoyski, in her
humble home, awoke that morning and remembered
the fact. She remembered, too, the féte of last year
and her plans !—they had soared till they had reached
the very throne of Russia. But, alas, in one year
every trace of her castles in Spain had vanished.
Both she and Trema were doomed to live the re-
mainder of their lives on the banks of the Grand
River.

MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART

ANSI and ISO TEST CHART Ne

rae

CROWNED AT ELIM.

“And Trema is evidently contented to stay here,’
mused Madame Zamoyski. ‘‘Trema, around whom
all my plans have centered, is satisfied with this little
out-of-the-way village. It is a good thing she has
not the ambitious nature of her mother.”

Trema meanwhile, little caring for all those
shattered air-castles, was up with the birds and out
in the woods gathering a bouquet of spring flowers
for David. He found them an hour later. He had
been at the bedside of a sick villager till after mid-
night, and the sunshine was shining brightly through
the chinks of the lattice when he awoke. The room
had been darkened that he might not be disturbed,
but he fancied that he detected a perfume of violets,
and put out his hand.

‘‘Yes, it is violets; and the first of the season.
She has been out to the woods and gathered them.
It is her birthday, and I should have got them for
her; but it is just like my Trema to bring them to
me. But what is that? The piano! Music on the
Sabbath! What will Mrs. Lindsay say? What will
the people think ?”’

He dressed hurriedly. And what was she play-
ing? Nota psalm tune,certainly; but the strangest,
weirdest air. And then the words! He stood by the
window and listened.

‘“’Tis a music wild and sweet, voice of Polish nation,
Which preserves her memory for each generation ;
Only from the wild flowers now they their splendor borrow,
Ah, what heart that knows their fate, feels no pang of
sorrow ?”’

The sad strains of the pathetic song floated up
to the minister, and dashed about him till he seemed

CROWNED AT ELIM. 177

, like some ship-wrecked mariner on some lone isle of

n the sea with billows of harmony surging about him.
le He forgot to question what Mrs. Lindsay would say,
LS or what the people would think. He only knew that
an agony of sorrow was breathed in the words of
se the song, and that it ended atlastinasob. Trema
it had not forgotten Poland. Greatly disturbed, he
rs hastened down to the drawing-room. She was still
d seated at the piano, ead was resting her head on her
1- hand. She looked up as he entered, and her eyes
‘h were full of tears.
m. ‘You have come to scold me for singing that Vf
1, song—I see it by your face. I know Iam a baby to
S, cry, but it is my first birthday without dear papa. if

I was thinking of all the happy days we had spent
together, and then I thought of his troubles, and the
tears would not stay back. But I will not be a baby

yr any more.”’

fo) David McGlashan forgot the admonition he had

le been about to administer, and only said: ‘It is not

Il customary to play any kind of music on the Sabbath
day in Riverside. This piano has never before been

y~ opened on the Lord’s Day.” ‘i

= “Has it not? Well, you must not bid me close 1

1e it now, for I want to play something I composed |

for you last night. The poet who wrote the lines
must have had you in his mind when he composed

them.”’
v, She played a charming little prelude and then
sang
“Oh, well for me life's rarest gifts and best |
Came slow and late,
P Because my soul hath leaned on Jesus’ breast, j

d

And learned to wait.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

For days of lonely toil, and humbled pride,
And baffled will;

For hope deferred, and selfish prayer denied,
I thank Him still.

“Tf derk or fair, life’s sunset hour shall be,
I cannot tell;
I know the J.ord, my Shepherd, leadeth me,
And all is well.’”’

When the last sweet note had ended the minister
was leaning over the piano in an attitude of reverie,
but all that he said was, ‘‘ Will you please sing it
again?’’ And the sacred song was sung again.
Trema played on, and, after a time, he found himself
singing with her the closing stanzas of the twenty-
fourth Psalm, to the tune of St. Georges, Edinburgh.

Mrs. Lindsay was not unobservant of what was
passing, and vented her wrath out to Jeanie.

‘Was there ever sic goings on ina Manse? First
mv lady rises at five o’clock on a Sabbath morning,
an’ gaes racing around through the woods like a
hairn; then comes hame to sing heathenish songs,
an’ desecrate the Manse wi’ unholy soonds o’ music.
An’ what'll the minister say tae it all, thinksI. Na
doot he'll be sair vexed. But I micht hae spared
mysel’ the trouble o’ thinkin’ aboot it, for my lady
has bewitched him; an’ if he isna helpin’ her tae pro-
fane the Sabbath himself!”

‘Mistress McGlashan would not play the piano
on the Sabbath if she thought it wrong,”’ said Jeanie,
speaking up in defence of her beloved mistress.
“When she sang I thought of the angels singing
round about the throne in Heaven; and as for the

tos

minister profaning the Sabbath—just listen to that!

CROWNED AT ELIM. 179
In the minister’s fine tenor, came the question:

“But who is He that is the King—the King of glory!
Who is this?”

And then the two voices were heard in response:

“Even that same Lord, that great in might,
And strong in battle is.”

And they listened till the inspiring notes of the
coda had ended in the last amen, and then Jeanie
looked up with tears in her eyes, saying:

‘You think music on the Sabbath is wicked. I
think itis grand. Such music is fit to be played in
Heaven.”

It was the next morning that Trema, standing
by the window, saw a lady walking swiftly along
the road and up the avenue to the Manse. Afar off,
Trema recognized her mother, for Madame Zamoyski
walked with a dignity that sorrow had not lessened,
nor poverty and hard work taken away. Trema
ran out to meet her, and looked wonderingly at
the radiant smile and flushed face.

‘*Such news, my daughter! ’’ were her first words.
“T have just had a letter from grandmamma, and
she wants you—you and I—to go at once to St.
Petersburg. The Count is dead—died three years
ago—and Ivan was thrown from his horse and died
in a few hours—such a horribly sudden death! The
Countess is beginning to get quite feeble. Of course,
Tam sorry for that, but at her time of life it is only
natural that she should begin to feel the weight of
years. It seems she felt your father’s death very
deeply, despite her apparent coldness, and she wishes
to have Casimir’s child with her to the last.”

180 CROWNED AT ELIM.

“Uncle Ivan dead!” said Trema in an awe-struck
whisper, as if she were just beginning to grasp the
meaning of her mother’s words; ‘I can scarcely
realize it. It seems hard to imagine him lying cold
in death—he who was so playful and witty. Hewas
always kind to me and [ liked him, though he and
papa never seemed to get on very well. Poor grand-
mamma! What a trial to lose her two sons just
after the Count’s death; though, truly, his death will
relieve her of a great many cares. But tell me, does
grandmamma want us +9 go and live with her for
an indefinite period ?”’

‘That is the idea. She wants you to remain
with her as long as she lives. She has quite set her
heart on your going. So anxious is she to have you
come, that she says she will divide all the property
equally between you and your cousin, Ivan. For
Count Stroganoff left her very well off, indeed. If
you do not go, you will receive nothing.”

‘‘But, mamma, she does not know that I am
married. I cannot leave David.”

“Do not be foolish, child! Your husband will
have to spare you for six months or a year, perhaps.
But he will not mind so much. See how he has lived
here and worked for his people without you for five
years; it will only be the same as it was before he
married you. Then the Countess must be quite up
in years now. She must be seventy-six at least.’’

‘‘Mamma, I should like very much to see grand-
mamma; but I do not like money well enough to
make it the price of leaving David for a long time.
So, if he cannot take a holiday and go too, then I
shall remain at home.”

CROWNED AT ELIM. 181

“Trema, you have become headstrong and

thoroughly intractable. It would be impossible for

him to go for an indefinite period, unless he resigned
his charge altogether, which I am quite sure he would
not do. And can you not understand, that if you

refuse to go, Ivan Stroganoff gets every thing? Of

course, that would be immaterial to you, no doubt,
as you have a comfortable home; but think what a
difference money would make to me. It is not a
el ant thing, I suppose, for you to see your mother

drucying as she has for the past year.’

“Certainly not,mamma. It is a great trouble
to me that you are obliged to do without the com-
forts to which you have been accustomed.”

“Well then, be reasonable. By staying with the
Countess for a time, you will not only be made
wealthy yourself, but the money thus obtained will
place me in an independent position and lift me above
a life of worry and care, which should be some con-
sideration to you.”

“It seems that I shall be obliged to go,” Trema
answered slowly. ‘How I wish David was here,
but he has gonetoa meeting of the Presbytery and
will not be back till evening.”

‘Oh, of course, David will take a sensible view
of the matter. He will be perfectly willing for you
to go. But if he does not return till evening, I shall
not stay, as I have many things to look after. If we
do go, we will sail from New York on the fifteenth ;
so that we have not many days to prepare for the
journey.”

Trema passed the day in a state of feverish ex.
citement. One moment she was thinking of how

182 CROWNED AT ELIM.

lonely David would be, and the next, she was re-
proaching herself for forgetting her duty to her
mother. But she came to a decision at last. She
would go to St. Petersburg and try to persuade the
Countess to settle an annuity on her mother. As
Casimir Zamoyski’s wife, surely she was entitled to
something. For herself she did not care; her wants
were fully supplied. In that way she would be able
to return to Riverside in four or five months at the
latest. And David, she knew, would not care for
her to be away tonger than that. Having come to
a decision, she was able to wait more tranquilly for
her husband’s return.

He came running up the steps in a glad way. It
was a pleasant sight to see her there to welcome
him. He did not like to be absent from her even for
a day. She told him at once of the death of the
Count and of the tragic fate of her Uncle Ivan, but
she did not mention going to Russia just yet. He
seemed so happy, and she knew he would not like
the idea of her going. So over the teacups he enter.
tained her with all that had happened in town; of
the subjects which had come up for discussion at the
Presbytery and of their settlement. But Trema
listened rather abstractedly, for she was wondering
how she could best tell him of her intended trip.

‘*David,”’ she said at last, ‘‘ where do you intend
going for a holiday this summer ?”’

“A holiday! Thad not thought of it. To tell
the truth, I have not taken a holiday—a real holiday
—since I came to Riverside, though the Session have
often urged me to doso. But as I had no friends in
Canada outside of this locality, and it did not strike

ne
or
he
ut

CROWNED AT ELIM, 183

me as particularly interesting to go roaming about
the country by myself, I just stayed here. Certainly,
we will take a holiday this summer.”

“Twas not thinking of myself, for I am afraid
we shall not be able to take a holiday together this
year. Grandmamma has sent word that she wishes
very much to see me, and she says if I go and visit
her she will leave me half of her property. I would
not entertain the idea of going, even for a moment,
were it not for mamma, but she does need the money
so badly. You know grandmamma does not like
my mother; she scarcely tolerates her because——
well, simply because mamma is not patrician. I am
worthy her consideration, you understand, because
I am her grandchild. Now, I did hope that you
would take a trip this summer—to the Lakes or
Niagara, or down the St. Lawrence—as the time
would seem to pass more quickly, and I shall prob-
ably return in September.”

‘Are you quite sure it is necessary for you to go?
Is there no other way ?”’

‘‘Yes, David; I have thought it all over, and I
believe it is my duty to go.”

‘When do you sail?”’

“May 15th.”

“May 15th! Sosoon?”

“Tt is rather soon, but mamma has decided to
go then.”

He sat silent for a while. The pleasure had
suddenly gone out of the beautiful May evening.
He had an unaccountable aversion to St. Petersburg
and all pertaining to it. He felt himself growing
irritable, It was a mercenary thing to visit Countess

184 CROWNED AT ELIN.

Stroganoff just to get money. But he knew quite
well that Trema was not mercenary; that she truly
loved her grandmother; that if the Countess had
been poor, and sick, and lonely, she would have gone
to her at once, and would have cheered her by the
sunshine of her presence. But the Countess was
not poor nor lonely. She had relatives in St. Peters-
burg, and life-long friends and trusted attendants;
while he had only Trema. But there was Madame
Zamoyski to be considered. Certainly, under the
circumstances, it was very selfish of him to object to
Trema's going. Well, he had had to make sacrifices
all his life, and no doubt he would have to go on
making them. Having come to this somewhat phil-
osophical conclusion, he entered at once with zest
into the arrangements; and Trema, seeing that he
did not feel so badly as she had anticipated, became
quite reconciled and even animated over her intended
trip, and the hours flew by on wings.

On Wednesday morning, the housekeeper received
word that her sister was seriously ill, and she was
given leave of absence for a few weeks. As Jeanie
lived in the same part of the country, she was
allowed to go home, too, as she would be able to
travel with Mrs. Lindsay. So the minister and his
bride had to make final preparations without any
assistance.

David McGlashan accompanied the ladies to New
York, and went with them to Sandy Hook. The
good-byes were said, and he boarded a tug to return
to the city. As he stepped on board the little craft,
the full burden of his loneliness fell upon him for the
first time. She was really gone; every moment the

CROWNED AT ELIM. 185

distance was increasing between them. He watched
the boat until it was a mere speck on the horizon,
and then with a heavy heart he turned his face city-
ward, and watched the coast as they passed along.

There was Staten Island rising from the waves,
green and beautiful, with a few cottages on the
beach and on the crest of the hill. But his vision
grew dim as he gazed, and instead of the fair island
he saw a Manse on the summit of a hill, with its
shades drawn, its doors closed, and no one on the
veranda to welcome him. Just then an ocean liner
steamed past them, hailing from Germany. The
passengers had crowded the decks, eager to get a
look at the new, strange country, and they waved
their handkerchiefs joyfully and sent glad cheers to
the passengers of the little tug, so rejoiced were they
that the end of their journey had come. And then
David McGlashan thought of a day four months
hence, when another ship would sail into the harbor,
and there would be a face looking eagerly out; but
the lips would be trembling with joy instead of grief,
the blue eyes would no longer be shaded with wet
lashes, and all the world would wear a holiday look,
because Trema had come. Thinking thus he stepped
upon the pier, passed along by Castle Garden, and
found his way among the crowds that thronged
Broadway; but in all the faces he saw only one—a
face framed in fluffy gol4-n hair, whose eyes were
shaded with wet lashes.

He arrived at Riverside in a drenching rain, and
made his way from the stage up to his home under
dripping trees. Mrs. Lindsay and Jeanie had not yet
returned, and the Manse had a closed-up appearance,

186 CROWNED AT ELIM.

He let himself in at the side door, and the interior
of the house was not more cheerful than the outside
bhetokened. Everywhere were traces of their hurried
departure. On the table in the dining-room were
the remains of their breakfast, together with the
unwashed dishes. He looked around for something
to eat, but after a three weeks’ absence there was
nothing eatable, so he went out again to the village
store and obtained supplies.

On his return he went upstairs to find a dry
coat. An air of disarrangement pervaded this apart-
ment, also, but its very disorder brought Trema’s
presence strangely near him. Going to the window
to raise the shade, he stepped on a slipper—a little
slipper with coquettish heel and dainty bow. He
picked it up as if he had trampled on some live thing.
In the clothes press was her riding habit with the
veilcaught up on the hat, just as she had worn it
the day they had last ridden together. On the
dresser was a pair of gloves, slightly soiled, and
evidently discarded at the last moment; there, too,
were some violets—the violets she had gathered that
May morning when neither had thought of separ-
ation. He left the room hurriedly; the very air
seemed to stifle him.

He went down stairs and prepared some supper,
but when he sat down to eat his meal in solitary
state he discovered that he had no appetite, and he
rose from the table in a short time and went to his
study. Surely it would be more homelike there!
But as he opened the door, a breath of damp, chill
air met him; the ashes of the grate were strewn
over the fender; a work basket stood by a low

CROWNED AT ELIM

rocker, and | ing open, face downwards, on the un
finished embroidery, was a daintily bound volume
of André Chénier, He glanced at the open page
and read:
“Sans parents, sans amis, et sans concitoy ers,
Oublié sur la terre, et loin de tous les mies,
Par les vagues jeté sur cette ile farouche.

Le doux nom de la France est souvent sur ma bouche.”

Had the sad words of the unfortunate poet appealed
to Trema? Could it be that she, too, felt far from
her own upon a lonely shore, and was she hungering
for the homeland and for her people? He turned the
pages and read:
“© fear, when thy soul into hers is so bound,
That to tear it away would inflict a deep wound,
When her smile seems as true as the sun's loving light,
Remember, the sages had reason to write:
‘O woman has ever inconstant been known,
And who thinketh to bind her soul fast to his own,
He thinketh to hold the wild winds in his hand,
And to write deathless words, by the waves, in the sand.’”

David McGlashan closed the book impatiently,
That vas not true of Trema. Should all the world
be inconstant, she, at least, would remain faithful.
She might be lonely; she might long for cultured
society; for all the pleasures of a life of luxury—he
half feared that she did—but untrue she would never
be—never. He turned to his desk. It was piled high
with papers and notes. He had made the notes pre-
paratory to writing a sermon, but he had forgotten
the connection, and they seemed a lot of meaningless
sentences. He had been away three weeks, and it
seemed three months. It was an effort to take up

188 CROWNED AT ELIM.

his work again just where he had dropped it. After
trying vainly to make some kind of order out of the
chaos, he shoved it all away at last—papers and
books and notes, and his thoughts reverted to the
one engrossing theme—Trema’s absence. After all,
he had only to live out those four months a moment
at a time; they must end at last, and when he
should go out and meet his people, their troubles
and their joys would make him forget, and he would
be surprised at the way the time would pass. So
he tried to reason himself into a brighter mood;
but a weight was on his heart that would not be
reasoned away, and he had to acknowledge that it
was not the four months’ absence that he feared, but
some other trouble, as yet vague and intangible but
uone the less dreadful. A premonition of coming
evil had come to him that day when he had spoken to
Casimir Zamoyski about Trema; it had oppressed

him in the very hour of his marriage, and it loomed
before him now—a shadow mountain, indistinct,
ominous, terrible. So he sat by his desk, a sorrow-
ful bent figure, with his head bowed dejectedly in
his hands.

CROWNED AT ELIM. 189

CHAPTER XVII.

ANY weary weeks passed before the postmaster
M handed David McGlashan a letter with an
interesting looking envelope, and with a
friendly nod to the custoiners in the store the min-
ister hastened out along the river bank till he came
to a secluded spot, where he opened the precious
letter and read:

DOLCE FAR NIENTE,
PETROFSKOI OsTrROF, June 24th.
Dearest :

Don’t I know how you have been watching for
a letter from me for weeks and weeks? I can
fancy I see the look of disappointment which will
cross your patient face when there is no letter with
a foreign postmark.

Did you receive my letter via Augusta, Maine?
On May 27th, a ship passed close to us—so close
that we could hear the captain speak. Fancy how
strange it sounded to us who had not heard a voice
fcr twelve days, except those on our own ship. The
ship was bound for Augusta, and a small boat was
launched and our mail taken to the captain. I had
written the letter to you, not in the least expecting
such good luck as to meet a homeward bound ship
in mid-ocean, but I was just as lonely as lonely could

190 CROWNED AT ELT.

be for you and home and Riverside; and so I wrote
a little every day, and i was delighted when the
opportunity came of sending it to you. No doubt
you have received it before this.

Grandmamma met us when we arrived, and gave
me two frosty touches on either cheek ; but her eyes
were shining with a gladness which her manner did
not express. Poor grandmamma! She shuts her
feelings up so, and few see beneath the surface, so
she gets the credit of being cold and incapable of
feeling, when her memory is a storehouse of broken
hopes, and her heart is a fountain of love; though,
alas! too often the founcain is covered with a coat-
ing of ice. As we rolled along in the handsome
equipage, grandmamma kept up & running comment
on my changed appearance. It seemed incredible to
her that I should have changed from a little girl to
a woman in seven years. She was disappointed,
too, that I was married (that is because she doesn't
know you, dear). She had some very brilliant
match arranged for me, and so, of course, her castles
in Spain fell to the ground. Her little exclamations,
sometimes in French, sometimes in Russian imused
me, but I let mamma answer all her questions, for
my attention was absorbed in the glittering shops
and miles and miles of great houses through which
we were passing. It was dear old St. Petersburg
still—bustling, bewildering, dazzling. The same
wonderful world out of which I dropped eight years
ago. The Palace, too, when we had arrived, was
the same dear place, filled as it is from end to end
with memories of my childhood. If I might just
enjoy it quietly, and had you by my side, how happy

CROWNED AT ELIM. 191

[should be! But since coming I have been engaged
in the interesting, thrilling business of receiving calls,
and trying to say something in a polished, elegant
Way in a language I have almost forgotten, and to
people who don't care a jot for me. I might return
to obscurity to-morrow and it would not make a
ripple on the surface of St. Petersburg’s social life.
But it isa great pleasure to grandmamma la Com-
tesse to see me launched in society, and so I must
submit to it for her sake.

You will see by my address that we are at the
Islands. We stayed only a few days in town. I
suppose you are wondering why I did not write
immediately on my arrival, but I looked up the
dates of sailing, and found that my letter would
not go till June 27th. I know, also, when a letter
should arrive from you, and shall be looking for it
anxiously; so don’t forget, in the multiplicity of
ministerial duties, to write to me. And please tell
ine everything—how Mrs. Lindsay is getting along,
now that she is at the helm again; and if Jeanie
sings a new song, or if she sings at all; where the
Sunday-school is going for its picnic, and if Robbie
Strachan came up for the paper helmet which I made
him. I put it in the top drawer of the sideboard;
the little fellow would be disappointed if you did
not know anything about it. There is a flag in the
drawer for him, too. I fancy I see him strutting up
and down with it over his shoulder.

Since came I have been renewing my acquaint-
ance with the servants, to mamma’s great annoy-
ance. She says that she cannot conceive where I

get my plebian tastes. The servants are all here

192 CROWNED AT ESF.
yet, with the exception of Ivan, the chief butler, who
died two years ago. Hewasa very stately person,
but kind hearted, and to me, some ten years ago, a
most devoted and humble slave. An incident of my
childhood days was brought vividly before me on
the day of my arrival, when I noticed a certain vase
in the drawing room. I was eight or thereabout,
and we were tearing up and down the salon—Nero
and I. He was a noble big fellow, but too large
to be permitted among the costly bric-a-brae of a
drawing room, In our play, I stumbled and fell
against a large vase, and it was justi tottering to
ruin when grandmamma caught it. She gave me a
good scolding, and told me never again to allow
Nero inthe salon, | remembered the occasion very
vividly, as it was the only time that she ever spoke
crossly to me. I wondered then at her ¢

aring so
much for a mere vase,

I did not wonder to-day
when I examined it. It is in cloisonné and gilt
bronze, and is decorated with Scenes from the life
of Coriolanus. It belongs to the Louis XVIII period
and must have cost a good many roubles. There is
a companion vase in enamel and gilt, which bel
to the same period. The scene On One side is Venus
descending to her palace below the sea—you will
remember in the story of Cupid and Psyche. I do
not know if the other scene represents anything in
particular. If you were here ycu would revel in all
the beautiful things in art.

ongs

I intend to beg one of
grandmamma’s tapestries from her for you, ‘‘ The

Death of Cleopatra,” which is exquisitely wrought,
would just fit in that space between the fireplace and
bookcase in the library. There is also another piece

CROWNED AT ELIM. 193

which I very much admired. It is one of the Roman
tapestries by Ferloni; the scene is from Tasso’s
“Jerusalem Delivered.” But I must not want too
much, or, like Aladdin of the Wonderful Lamp, I
should be transporting the palace and all its con-
tents to a little village over the sea.

10:00 a.Mm., June 25th.
My dear Fidus Achates :

I didn't finish my letter last night, because I
remembered that in this prosaic old world there was
no such thing as enchantment, really; and that I
could not transport either the palace or myself to
you; that between us lay weeks of travel. And
when I thought of it, and how many weeks must
still intervene before I should see you, I got rid of
my heartache by the remedy best known for thet
malady—tears; and as I found they were beginning
to ruin the appearance of my letter, I put it away.
But the sun is again shining, the tears are gone and
this is your own merry Trema, come to wish you a
bright good morning,

First thing, when I opened my eyes some four
hours ago, I thought of Riverside and the woods at
home; so while the elite of the islands were still in
dreamland, I went out, unattended, for a walk.
Don’t get frightened! I did not go beyond the
confines of our park, and I was not trying to lose
myself, but to find some pretty little nooks where I
used to play when achild. And I did find my wild
woods, where I had played Robin Hood: but, helas!
it was turned into a smooth, green glade, with
the graceful statue of a woodland nymph the sole

19+ CROWNED AT ELIM.

habitant of the place; while the hillock, where my
hero had his fortress, was grown into a thicket.
Only the same little brook chattered over the pebbles
and wound its way among the green ferns in the
ravine.

Leaving the brook I climbed up the side of the
bank by means of a flight of steps, and when |
reached the top I found myselfin a magnificent grove
of linden trees, in the midst of which is a Turkish
kiosk. I sat down on the steps of the heathenish
edifice and looked around. It was a beautiful spot—
artificial lakes, artificial groves, statuary in the
midst of a wealth of greenery, limpid pools, singing
birds, blooming plants. I used to have an erroneous
opinion that Paradise cam after death; now I know
it comes before. Now, don’t wrinkle up your eye-
brows and look so shocked. If you have one fault—
and you have one—forgive me if I divest you of one
boasted quality, but you know you have lots of
good ones left; and since you will exalt mein spite
of myself, you must not mind if I turn preacher, and
tell you that you take the world and everything in
it too seriously, and so everything shocks and
wounds and corrodes, and breaks the great, tender
heart of you. But what was J] saying about this
pocket edition of Paradise? Oh, yes; it was so
beautiful that I wanted to run away Over to the
Church of St. Isaacs, fall on my knees before the
Patriarch, and beg him to give me some severe pen-
ance to perform. Another lapsus calami, you will
say; but, indeed, I mean it, for I feel that all this
beauty steals into the senses and unfits me for the
sterner duties of life. I know I would make a most

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CROWNED AT ELTIAL. 195

perfect priestess in the sacred temple of the Beautiful;
but though I offered incense all day long, and spent
every moment in the ceremonies of the shrines, it
would still remain a religion of the senses, and |
must climb to the Holy City by a more rugged path.

I think of your life in Riverside; of how little of
the beautiful there is in it: of the great sacrifices you
have made; and yet it seems the true life,and I want
to be somewhere near you—I feel afraid alone. The
spoited leopard* is always beckoning me aside in
tnis City of the Czars.

And now there are no more thoughts save one:
that after all these pages and pages, you will be glad
to find my signature, seeing that it will denote a
conclusion; and so I shall gratify you, though very
reluctantly, by signing myself,

Your devoted little wife.

TREMA.

When David McGlashan finished the letter, he
lifted his head, and, lo! the shadow mountain was
gone. It had dimmed the stars by night, and had
clouded the sun by day; and now, without warning,
it had been carried away on the wings of a dainty
missive from over the sea. He noticed for the first
time how beautiful the river was in that particular
spot. He noted how the foliage of the Sycamores
and elms was entwined and interlaced with wild
vines, and hung in graceful festoons over the water.
A flock of geese came sailing through the stone
arches of the bridge out into the broad river, and
he wondered if they knew that the broad, smooth
stream would end for them in destruction if they

* Dante’s Inferno. Canto T., 1. 31-36.

196 CROWNED AT ELIM.

continued on their course, for ahead of them was a
precipitous fall of thirty feet. And then he thought
how, in life, Edenic resting places often came before
troublous times. He had come to such a place now,
but he was not afraid for the future. He had had
a premonition of trouble, but it had only been a
premonition, and now it was gone, he hoped, for-
ever. Nor did grave doubts again return, even when
those dreaded weeks had passed and Trema ‘id not
come at the appointed time. But she sent one of her
cheery letters, telling how the nobility were about
to leave their summer homes on the islands for the
city, and that the Countess had given a grand féte,
the last social event of the summer, and that she
and her mother had remained a few weeks longer
in consequence of it.

All the arrangements of the féte were symbolic
of the harvest season. It was, in fact, a harvest
festival. Over the driveways were arches of jack-o’-
lanterns. The lawn represented a field of harvested
grain. The stately entrance to the villa was out-
lined with autumnal flowers. The piazza, which
was of generous proportions in length and breadth,
was canopied with grapevines, whose laden branches
sank drooping to the floor and formed an arbor in
which supper was served later in the evening. The
interior of the villa was included in the general
scheme of harvest decorations. Grapevines, flowers
and ripe fruit formed a frieze around the drawing
room; garlands of poppies graced the pillars; sun-
flowers and poppies peeped out from great banks of
palms and ferns; screens of plaited wheat formed
quiet nooks, where cosy seats were placed in the

CROWNED AT ELIM. 197

shade, as it were, of miniature straw-stacks. The
rich costumes of the ladies completed the scene of
beauty. This and much more, Trema told in her
charming way. And the minister stifled a sigh at
the thought of her absence, and with the courage of
a martyr, wrote her not to be in a hurry to return
but to enjoy herself for a few weeks longer.

The weeks passed quickly; then winter was upon
them, and it was not thought advisable to undertake
a sea voyage during such inclement weather. Trema
was glad that it had been decided that they were to
remain till spring, for as time passed she noticed her
grandmother growing more and more feeble, and she
did not wish to ieave her. She would gladly have
given up all festivities to remain by her side, but the
Countess would not have itso. She assured Trema
that she was feeling as well as usual, and insisted
on her fulfilling all her engagements, and they were
many. As for Madame Zamoyski, the days were
filled with a giddy round of social duties. She al-
ready felt that her life in Canada was a dream;
that there was no life outside of that whirl of
dinner parties, theatre parties, balls and social teas.

198 CROWNED AT ELIM,

CHAPTER XVIII.

UPERBLY costumed, Madame Zamoyski one
S evening entered the salon of Princess Ment-
chikoff, where she and Trema had been invited

to dine with a few distinguished celebrities. While
she stood chatting with her hostess, there came to
her the memory of former years, and mentally she
compared her humble home of a year ago with this
stately salon—its walls hung in rosy satin, its ceiling
richly painted in fresco, its furniture of gilt and bro-
caded silk, and then she looked past the dazzling
groups of richly-gowned folk to where Trema sat
laughing and chatting with some friends. Princess
Mentchikoff also noticed at the moment Tre

ma’s
sparkling beauty.

‘Your daughter was meant to be a social leader.
It is a pity she married in Canada,” she said,

‘“*Yes,’’ Madame Zamoyski answered.
just wondering how she wil] e
back to the quiet life of her village home.”
The Princess shrugged her f:

“1 was
ver be able now to go
ur shoulders grace-
fully. “It is a mésalliance. Why should she ever go
back ?”

Why, indeed? The thought came
tion. Why need she ever go back?
folding doors rolled back noiselessly ;

as an inspira-
Just then the
two footmen

CROWNED AT ELIM 199

drew aside the tapestry portierres; the buffetshek
stood in the arched door.

“ Dinner is served," he said.

The Princess accompanied by Count Branitskis
led the way. Trema followed on the arm of a dis-
tinguished Russian nobleman. Madame Zamoyski
found that Prince Strechnoff had been assigned to
her; but though he proved an agreeable companion
and she gave courteous attention to his remarks,
yet she was still busy with that startling question :
‘Why need she ever go back ?”’

Once again Madame Zamoyski had tasted of the
intoxicant of luxury, and found it good; henceforth
she must live upon it. How she hated poverty!
How she loved this royal magnificence—the splendor
of the dinner service, the softly shaded candelabra,
sparkle of cut glass, the incense of rare flowers! She
must have it at any price. And, alas! for all these
things she must look to Trema. Through Trema
only could s ie hope to win favor with the Countess
and receive money enough to supply her extravagant
wants. Then, suddenly,in the midst of the light and
the laughter and the flowers, a thought came. Ma-
dame Zamoyski raised her head; her cheeks were
glowing, her eyes sparkling. She would do it. Why
not? David McGlashan would care for a little
while. Trema would care, too, but she would soon
forget.

The idea was so simple that it did not seem very
dreadful. In fact she realized now that the thought
was not new; that it had been lurking in her heart
ever since that morning in Riverside when she had
received the letter from Countess Stroganoff, and it

200 CROWNED AT ELIM.

had only needed the remark from Princess Mentchi-
koff to crystallize the thought into definite action,
She was decided now. Trema must never return to
Canada. She would intercept all letters passing
between David and Trema, and then instil, drop by
drop, the venom of distrust in Trema’s mind. This
plan, so simple in general outline, would require a
great deal of thought to bring it to a successful
issue. For instance, if Trema did not hear from
her husband in a certain length of time, she would
probably take passage in the next ship and return
home. That must be prevented. Then David Me-
Glashan might come to St. Petersburg to see for
himself how matters stood. That, too, must be
prevented.

It was the very next day that the Countess, in
going over her mail, held a letter out to Madame
Zamoyski.

‘“‘Who is this letter for?’’ she asked. ‘“‘ My eyes
are not as good as they once were, and I cannot
make out the name.”

Madame Zamoyski took it eagerly when she saw
the Riverside postmark, and blessed the Fates who
had decreed that Trema should be spending that
particular day with a friend. A few moments later,
all that remained of David McGlashan’s bulky letter
was a little heap of ashes in the grate in Madame
Zamoyski’s room,

This auspicious opening of the enterprise gave
her courage. It seemed to augur well for the success
of her scheme. And when, a few days later, Trema
spoke in an anxious way about the non-appearance
of her letter, her mother replied :

tchi-

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sing
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ould
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Ina
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CROWNED AT ELIM, 201

“Do not trouble yourself, child. David is,
course, becoming accustomed to your absence now.
The receiving of a letter on a certain day will no
longer prove a life and death matter to him.”’

And day by day thereafter, she sought to plant
suspicion in Trema’s mind. On every possible occa-
sion she cast reflections on the constancy of David
McGlashan, and showed Trema what a small part
she played in his life, filled as it was with all a
pastor’s cares. And though Trema emphatically
denied all these accusations, yet she was deeply
wounded, especially when after a time there seemed
to he some truth in her mother’s assertions, for no
letter came. After one of her mother’s dissertations,
she would shut herself up in her room and weep for
hours. Though Madame Zamoyski guessed how
these hours were spent, yet it did not soften her
heart, nor turn her from her purpose. It was not
her way to turn from a thing once undertaken, and
all tender feeling seemed to be congealing under the
baneful influence of that one all-absorbing desire.

Those were bitter days for Trema; more bitter
because she tried to conceal from every one what she
was suffering. For to show that she was troubled
only proved to others that her husband was grow-
ing careless towards her. In the first days of un-
certainty, she was determined to return to Canada.
But her mother had prevented that; she had worked
upon the one vulnerable spot in Trema’s character—
her pride. Trema was not without pride; she would
not have been a Zamoyski had she lacked it. She
would not lose faith in her husband while there was
a vestige of hope on which to cling; yet neither

of

an

202 CROWNED AT ELIM.

would she take any step to clear up the mystery of
his indifference.

Another mail arrived, and no letter came. She
never realized till hope was gone, how much she had
counted or receiving one. At this fresh disappoint-
ment, there fell over her spirits a brooding sense of
desolation which she could not shake off. She found
it impossible now to hide her grief under a sunny,
playful air; so she no longer received company or
par’ cipated in any gaities.

Spring came again, but for Trema there was
no spring. In her heart was still the chilliness of
autumn. When the warm April days came and they
went to their summer home on the Island, she went
for a walk in the park, but the sight of the chattering
brook and the kiosk on the hill-top only reminded
her of that first letter she had written, now nearly a
year ago, when her husband's love had seemed as
firm and unchangeable as the granite quays of the
Neva. But in the midst of her trouble a new grief
came. Countess Stroganoff died. Though she had
been slowly failing in health for some time, yet her
death at last was totally unexpected and Trema was
inconsolable. She reproached herself for being selfish
in her sorrow, and neglecting her grandmother in
her last days. She thought with a pang of remorse
of the many little acts which she had neglected to
perform. She searcely left the drawing room where
the Countess lay in state, but carefully and gently
arranged the flowers on the bier, performing the last
loving acts which it was possible for her to do.

One day, on entering the room, Trema found her
mother kneeling by the casket with her face buried in

CROWNED AT ELIM. 203

~

the purple velvet pall which covered it. She hastily
withdrew, but was surprised at the evident depth of
her mother’s grief, for Madame Zamoyski had never
evinced the least affection for her mother-in-law.
But it was not grief for the dead which had drawn
the lines of suffering upon her face. While she was ’
surrounded by gaiety and excitement she had little
time to think, but now in the presence of death,
voices were whispering in her ears to stop in the
course which she had mapped out for herself, and for
a brief space she listened. She thought of the un-
necessary trouble she had caused Trem a; her unselfish
devoted child; she thought how she had fallen from
honor, she who had counted honor her chiefest
virtue; she thought of the intrigue and deception
which she had practiced, and above all, she thought
of Casimir—her husband. If he knew, how he would
despise her! He had always thought her incapable
of a dishonorable action.

“It is not too late; I can yet turn back,”’ she
thought, “for I am rich now, so is Trema. How my
heart beat with happiness when the Countess told
me that she had settled a handsome annuity upon
me, and that Trema was to share equally with her
cousin Ivan. But I cannot let Trema return even
now. During our residence here the truth has been
forced upon me that lam admitted into the exclusive
sets upon sufferance, because I married a
Buc Trema is admitted because she is a umoyski.
In St. Petersburg, a whole world of difference lies
between those two facts. Then Trema’s intellectual
gifts and irresistible charm gain her an entrance
everywhere. Alas, that I should have to confess it!

unoyski,

Lv
ae
7,
‘
ae

204. CROWNED AT ELIM.

but many of my social triumphs have been scored
through my daughter, and if I have to remain alone
in St. Petersburg, with neither the Countess nor
Trema to stand as sponsors for my social position, I
suppose I shall find myself relegated to oblivion. In
the end, they will only remember that I was a mer-
chant’s daughter; and Catherine will take good care
that our friends do not forget it. Then why let
conscience stand in my way? Trema must remain.
And what pleas» ‘e would she have with her money
in Canada, anyway? Then there is that letter I
wrote to David only last week—a cruel, false letter,
but it was part of my plan arid had to be done.
Now if I let Trema go back, I shall have to retract
and say it was a lie, and that I cannot do. Bah!
how near I came to making a fool of myself.”

She lifted her face from the pall; every trace of
tenderness and grief had passed, and the haughty
coldness, which of late seemed to be her dominant
expression, had returned.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

bo
co)
ou

CHAPTER XIX.

OR David McGlashan, the winter had passed
F drearily enough. In February a thaw came,
and the country took on quite a spring-like
appearance. Spring was in the air, and the minister’s
spirits rose accordingly. He looked at his calendar
and counted the weeks. There were still two in
February ; four in March, and two in April. Trema
would be home in eight weeks! She had been gone
nearly ten months; it seemed years. He returned
the calendar to its place and put on his overcoat; he
was going to the post-office. He felt quite confident
that he would get a letter that day. He had not
had a letter from Trema for some time. On his way
to the viilage he began thinking of the changes he
would make in the Manse. He would have the
drawing room newly decorated. Trema had said it
was too glociny. He would have a new mantel put
in—pure white, Grecian style. The prevailing colors
in the decorations would be white and gold. It
would be a Marie Antoinette room. He would have
folding doors made between the drawing room and
alittle ante-room—at present a most useless place.
He would have an organ put in. Trema was so fond
of sacred music. It would be the music room. He
smiled at his pretentious names, and his enthusiasm

206 CROWNED AT ELIM.

in house decorating. A year ago he knew littie
enough about it, but recently he had given some
attention to the subject and was surprised to find
that the draping of a curtain or the harmonious
grouping of colors came as naturally to him as sing-
ing to an oriole. He did not recognize the fact that
his work was an outlet for his artist nature. se
should have been an upholsterer,” he said laughingly
to Mrs. Lindsay, when by a single dexterous move-

ment he had gra

had ; ully arranged a lace curtain,
which, under the housekeeper’s treatment, had per-
sisted in remaining stiff and inartistic.

‘s enthusiasm was dampened somewhat when
hi rea. hed the post-office, for there was no ietter for
him. After that, the day did not seem nearly so
bright. One of his parishioners met him.

“A beautiful day, Mr. McGlashan ?”

“Yes, but I think there is going to be a storm.”

The man looked incredulous, and passed on.
David McGlashan did not eat any dinner, and told
Jeanie that Mrs. Lindsay need not prepare his tea;
he was going out. He returned some hours later
and, still fasting, retired to rest; but did not leep.
In the morning, however, he felt. more cheerful.
‘Whether Trema writes or not,” he r -asoned, ‘she
must come home in a few weeks. In the meantime I
shall go on with these repairs.”

He went to Toronto and selected new furnish.
ings; workmen were engaged, and for a time the
Manse was a bustling place. But though David
McGlashan was so busy, he still wondered and
worried about Trema’s silence. Each day when he
received his mail he turned away disappointed, for

littie

;ome
find
Hous
sing-
that
4é I
ngly
Ove-
Luin,

per-

then
r for
y so

on.
told
tea;
Ater
eep.
rful,
she
1e |

CROWNED AT ELIM, 207

among his letters there was never one with a Russian
postmark. One day, Donald Bell, noticing the min-
ister’s disappointed face, said:

“It iss a long time since a letter came from Mis-
tress McGlashan. It will be taking a long time for
a letter to come from Russia.”’

The minister was vexed. His wife's strange
silence would soon be the talk of the village. He
would not watch the mail so anxiously. He would
feign indifference; then the postmaster would think
he was not looking for a letter. For three days he
Stayed away; then he went again on that pilgrim-
age which meant so much to him. The store was
full of customers, and Donald Bell was Waiting on
them. David McGlashan went over to the side of
the store where the post-office was and looked into
his box. There were several letters, and—yes! on
the top was a letter with—not a Russian, but a
Prussian post stamp. If he could only get it! But
the post-office boxes in Riverside were not opened
with keys. He would have to wait his turn. Well,
after waiting all those weeks what mattered a few
more minutes !

He walked away and spoke to some of the
people. Hesaw John McLellan, and did not forget
to ask after his mother, who had been suffering with
ucuralgia. Ue asked Alex Davidson how he was
getting along with his new house, and listened with
attention to a detailed description of it. Yet all the
time he was thinking of that letter in the box. He

as wondering how Trema came to be in Prussia:
perhaps they had gone to visit Warsaw: that no

doubt accounted for her silence But what was the

208 CROWNED AT ELIA.

use of thinking, when in a few moments he would
know all.

At !~st Donald Bell went over and distributed
the mail. When the minister got his letter he noticed
that the peculiar foreign writing was not Trema’s,
but her maid might have addressed the envelope.
He tore it open hastily and read:

‘ART EMPORIUM,
““CREFELD, RENISH Prussia, Feb. 15th, 1859.
*‘ Dear Sir :

‘“We beg to call your attention to the enclosed
testimonials from our patrons in America, which
acknowledge our goods to be the most beautiful
ever imported into that country. Our hand-made
sacred vessels which we manufacture in Gothie and
Roman styles, when made for exportation, receive
especial care.

‘‘Comparison will show that our hand-made
woven silks, gold and silver brocade, etc., for the
manufacture of vestments, are considerably lower
in price than any other. Send for price Jist and
samples of our silks, brocades, ete.

‘Awaiting your esteemed order, we are,

‘Your obedient servants,

“THE DUXENBURG MANUFACTURING Co.”

It was a bitter disappointment. He turned to
go out; he was very pale.

“The young mistress is quite well, I hope,” said
the postmaster, noticing David McGlashan’s white,
drawn face.

ould

uted
iced
1a’s,

ope.

1859,

osed
hich
tiful
lade
and
eive

1ade

the
wer
and

CROWNED AT ELI. 209

‘Quite well, yes, quite well,’ he replied, scarcely
knowing what he said, and yet feeling that his looks
must belie his words. But one consolation there
was in the disappointing letter. Donald Bell had
taken it for granted that it was from Trema, and
talk would cease for the present.

He dragged himself wearily home, sat down by
his study fire and tried to look at the matter in a
practical way. He had expected a letter and been
disappointed; but what of that? It might come
to-morrow. But if it did not? If day after day
passed and no letter came, what then? He grew
white at the very thought. A hundred perplexing
doubts arose. He was nervous and irritable. The
sound of the workmen’s hammers annoyed him.

‘‘T used to think I was a patient, philosophical
sort of being,’’ he said, as he turned towards the
stone stairway as a refuge from the noise. ‘Now all
my patience seems to have deserted me.”’

At the first landing he paused. Should he go on
up to the museum, or out on the balcony? Not io
the museum this time. It was always associated in
his mind with that happy New Year's Eve, and in
his present depressed state the happiness of that
night seemed a mockery to him, He opened the door
on the landing and stepped out on the balcony,
which was but a ledge of smooth rock. This new
wing of the Manse had been built close to a perpen-
dicular wall of rock, the top of which was level and
overlooked the river. No more secluded spot could
be found than this little retreat. Not a single
habitation was visible from it. Beneath his feet the
river lay still ice-bound between its rocky fastnesses.

210 CROWNED AT ELIM.

After the thaw and a rain-storm, severe frost had
come, and now the trees on the opposite bank
glittered with a thousand sparkling jewels; the rocks
all ice-coated formed a dream-world of ice-pillars,
glassy cornices and gleaming pinnacles. The scene
was beautiful, restful. Under the influence of that
crystal calmness his spirits were soothed, and hope
returned once again to his heart.

A week passed and then a bright idea struck him.
Trema was going to give him a surprise; she was
coming home without writing. He was jubilant.
Why had he not thought of that before? There was
still much to do, and he set about the remainder of
the alterations with alacrity. All the time he worked
he thought. of his little wife. Would this please her?
Would she be suited with that? How delighted she
would be with it all! But then the Manse must
needs be bright, for after all the grandeur to which
she had been accustomed recently, it would not do
for her to return to a dreary home.

He was happy and all nature seemed to rejoice
with him. The weather was warm again, and with
the return of balmy airs the robins had come. The
river had broken suddenly from its icy fetters and
went tumt'ing over the rocks with a roar like a
rushing, angry sea; surface rivulets danced and
foamed down the hillsides, the trees were beginnin~
to bud; the whole world had burst into life and
gladness.

The minister went home one day with a radiant
face. Dr. Blair had bought Vinemount; had for-
sworn bachelorhood; and he and Hilda Bain were to
be married the last of April. ‘The idea!” said the

had
ank
cks
ars,
“ene
hat
Ope

lim,
was
ant.
was
r of
‘ked
ier ?
she
lust
hich
r do

oice
vith
The
and
ke a
and
nin ~
and

iant
for-
‘e to
the

TLeeamall

CROWNED AT ELIM., 211

minister, ‘and Hilda so young—barely seventeen !
And who would have thought that the dignified Dr.
Blair would have chosen Hilda—gentle, timid, little
Hilda? Well, I am glad that I’m nearly through
with my alterations and I wish Trema was here to
enjoy the wedding festivities.”

It was indeed pleasant to hear sounds of life at
Vinemount, for ever since Ralph Murray had taken
possession of it the place had been closed up. Now
all was changed. The doctor and minister would
call across from their respective verandas to learn

how each other’s work was progressing, and be-
tween the two there was a playful rivalry. Some-
times the doctor would go over to the Manse,
criticise all the minister’s work, and tell how much
nicer he was going to have things; whereat David
McGlashan would reply that when Vinemount looked
nicer than the Manse he would give him permission
to criticise.

212 CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XX.

R. BLAIR’S wedding day came round at last,
and the event caused an unusual excitement in
the quiet little village. Almost everyone was

preparing to go to the church to get a glimpse of the
honnie young bride. Charlie Kinnear, who had been
in Toronto for some months, had just arrived for the
great occasion. David McGlashan met him as he
jumped from the stage coach.

“How do you do?” Charlie cried, hen he saw
his pastor, “I thought I was going to be late, but I
must be in time after all since you have not gone yet.
May I drive over to the church with you?”

“Certainly; just wait a moment till I get my
mail,”’

The postmaster had just opened the mail-bag,
and he handed the minister a letter—a letter from
St. Petersburg at last! He put it in his pocket, for
he did not care to read it with Charlie looking on.

‘‘ Well, how do you like business, Charlie? "asked
the minister when they started along the road.

“Fine! Uncle George savs if I keep on working as
I have done he will make me a partner soon. And
what do you think? He is going to send me to
Paris next month to look after some business. I
think he is sending me on this trip as a test to see

last,
it in
was
* the
been
r the
is he

SAW
put I
¥et.

my

-bhag,
from
t, for
mn.

isked

ng as
And
ne to

<—4

CROWNED AT ELIM 213

whether Iam worthy of promotion or not. I shall
do my very best. It looks as if Mrs. McGlashan’s
palmistic divinations were correct. I am _ really
succeeding, and I am really going abroad.”
Palmistic divinations! Why, what do you
mean?”

“Don't you remember that night at the sugar
camp when Trema—I beg your pardon—Mrs. Mce-
Glashan read my hand ? You must have seen her.
I think she thought you were angry at her for it,
because she would not finish telling me, and I could
never coax her to tell me anything again. She had
said that I had little love for poetry or fine arts, but
would succeed in practical things, and that I would
travel abroad.”

“T had no idea that Mrs. McGlashan knew any-
thing of palmistry. I shall have to ask her when she
comes home what led her to study such a subject.”

“Is she coming home soon?”

“Oh, ves; [think so. I have just received a letter
from her.’’ And he felt his pocket to see that the
precious letter was still there.

‘*T suppose when you get to be a great business
man, you will be coming back to carry off one of our
lassies ?*’ continued the minister.

‘Perhaps I may.”’

‘Which one will it be; Miss Cairns?”

“Who told you? I don’t see how you know,”
said Charlie, laughing and flushing.

‘Oh, I just guessed.”

They reached the church then, and found that
the people were already gathered. David McGlashan
went to the vestry, but before donning his clerical

214 CROWNED AT ELIM.

robes he sat down to read the letter; no danger of a
disappointment this time; it was sealed with the
crest of the Stroganofis, He opened it and read:

STROGANOFF PALACE,
Sr. Perersnure, April 10th, 1859,
Rev. Davip MCGLASHAN,
The Manse,’ Riverside, Upper Canada.
Dear Sir:

I am requested by my daughter to inform you
that since coming to St. Petersburg she considers her
marriage with a country clergyman a grave mistake,
which she deeply regrets. She now sees what her
true status in society should be. Instead of the
company of a few industrious Scotch dames, she has
for friends the exalted on:s of the earth. Her noble
lineage, her many talents, her wonderful beauty, has

caused all doors to be opened unto her. Even
crowned heads rec. | + her gladly.

Knowing your conscientious scruples in regard
to your work, she believes it will be impossible to
persuade you to live in St. Petersburg, where no
doubt the society would be uncongenial to you;
therefore, she believes that the only course to pursue
under the circumstances is to live apart. She trusts
that you will look on this matter calmly, and if you
love her you will sacrifice your feelings for her well-
being.

She has not written this letter herself, as she
feared that the contents would grieve you more
deeply coming from her. It will be useless to try to
persuade her differently by writing, as her mind is
quite made up. Should you answer this letter, your

1859,

| you
‘s her
take,
t her
f the
e has
noble
* has

Even

‘gard
le to
‘fe no
you;
ursue
rusts
f you
well-

s she
more
ry to
ind is
your

CROWNED AT ELIM, 215

communication will not reach us, as we leave almost
immediately for a trip in Southern Europe,

Trusting that you will take an impartial view of
this matter, believe me to be,

Yours respectfully,

MIRIAM ZAMOYSKI.

He held the note in his hand like one in a dream.
He noticed the wide border of black, and wondered
vaguely at it; he examined the beautiful crest of the
Stroganoffs, trying in a dim way to decipher its
meaning; and looked with attention at Madame
Zamoyski's fine handwriting. It seemed as if he had
two natures, but the one which ached and suffered
was dead, while the other could take note of all
these little things.

Presently he heard a sound outside, and he re-
membered that he was to officiate at a marriage.
He put on his gown mechanically and when he was
ready to go in, he seemed for the first time to realize
the magnitude of the blow that had come upon him.
Trema had deserted him! Trema, withthe madonna
face, was false; Trema, with the soft dove’s eves, had
broken her vows. And now more vows were going
to be made just to be broken; and he would have to
listen to those vows and pronounce a blessing upon
them.

When he stood before the bridal party Dr. Blair’s
grave confidence angered him. Imbecile! Did he
not know that vows were brittle as wax? He
scarcel. «new whether he was using the proper
words ot the marriage service or not; for a verse

216 CROWNED AT ELIM.

of poetry was rushing through his mind with the
rapidity of a whirlwind.

“OQ fear, when thy soul into hers is so bound,

That to tear it away would inflict a deep w ound,

When her smile seems as true as the sun’s loving light,
Remember, the sages had reason to write:
‘OQ woman has ever inconstant been known

And who thinketh to bind her soul fast to his own,

He thinketh to hold the wild winds in his hand,

And to write deathless words, by the waves, in the sand.’

The ceremony was over at last, and friends
flocked about the bride and groom to offer con-
gratulations ; and David McGlashan offered congrat-
ulations, too. He felt like laughing—a mocking,
sareastic laugh. It was all like a puppet-show—a
farce, that was gone through every now and again
for the amusement of the crowd.

Soon the bells chimed out merrily. The doctor
and his young bride drove away, and the guests
who had been invited to the wedding breakfast
followed. After the breakfast there was going to be
a reception for the villagers at Vinemount. The
minister excused himself from the reception. He was
tired of smiling; tired of saying eulogistic nothings;
tired of looking at happy faces; and tired of pretend-
ing to be happy.

“Yes, I am tired of it all!”’ he exclaimed when
the day was done, and he was alone in his room. ‘I
ain tired of life which is nothing but a gigantic false-
hood; tired of trying to be true w hen truth is deac ,
tired of striving towards an ideal which vanishes as
I near it, like some half remembered dream. And

after all what are ideals, but half formed dreams

the

ends
con-
srat-
king,
w—a
ain

oetor
uests
kfast
to be

The
> was
ings ;
-tend-

when
es |
false-
deac ,
hes as

And
reams

CROWNED AT ELIM. 217

which can never be fulfilled? Poor miserable human
creatures, fallen angelhood! What are we? Once in
the ages past we took a wrong turn, and we have
been going wrong ever since. The dross of earth has
perverted our sense; our souls are burned out; our
impulses are sick; we deceive one another, and then
we deceive ourselves, till at last we are not sure
whether we wish to reach some higher plane or not.
So we mix with the crowd and are swept along en
masse as leaves are whirled in a stream, till the feet
become weary, and the eyes are dim, and the grave
is just beyond, and then—ah, what then? Well, [at
least, cannot mix with the crowd. I cannot fritter
my life away in absorbing nothings. I shall leave
the ministry and paint pictures—pictures of fair false
faces sitting in temples of dethroned gods; of stately
forest trees preyed upon by graceful vines till the
mighty giants slowly give up their lives to the fairy
tendrils which stealthily close about them ; of flowers
of exquisite beauty blooming in an arid waste, for
their odors emit death. Thus I shall teach mankind
that nothing is so pure but it may be deadly—that
Beauty is Death.”

With these aching thoughts weighing upon his

brain, the minister at length fell asleep. It med
that he was long in waking, and that durt , ose

long hours «f sleep he dreamed. Once in his dream a
soft-eyed panther crept close to him, and while he
was admiring its graceful form it crouched ready to
spring, while its beautiful eyes shot sparks of fire.
Then he fancied that he was moving through an
Elysian glade where vines and mosses grew, and sank
down to rest amid the soft luxuriance, when a slimy

CROWNED P—ELIM,

218
and wound

reptile crept out from among the foliage,
around a plant, crushing out its life. Sometimes in
this long sleep, Trema came and stood by him, sad

and sorrowful-eyed ; but when he called her she

vanished like mist.
Then at last he awoke
“He has changed for the be

and heard Dr. Blair say-
tter: all danger is

ing:

g:

past,” and Mrs. Lindsay came to the bedside and
smiling through her tears and

took his thin hand,
whispered :
“The Lord be praise
couldna mak up oor minds t
He wondered what it all me
Would Mrs. Lindsay and the doctor
He waited for a
sappear, and then
the table and he
had been dream-

d for His goodness. We
ae lose oor pastor.”
ant, and if he were

dreaming yet.
yanish, too, as Trema had done.
moment fearing that they would di
he noticed a bouquet of jonquils on
knew that time had passed since he
ing.

“What is the matter, doctor? Havel been ill?”

“Ves, very ill.”

“For how long?’

“Just three weeks. Now
all your questions when you
Then the doctor went towards
» Mrs. Lindsay to follow
the minister tried to

do not talk but rest.

T will answer are strong

enough to listen.”’
the door and beckoned t
him. When they were gone,
remember everything, but his thoughts grew comn-
fused, and soon he fell ‘nto a deep sleep, from which
he did not waken till the early hours of dawn. And
then it was nota real awakening; for when the first
beams of light entered his window, he fancied that
he floated away in the path of the sunrise till he

rest.
rong
ards
low
-d to
con-
vhich
And
- first
that
rill he

CROWNED AT ELIM. 219

od in the midst of shekinah glory, and saw the
great High Priest in his Temple filling golden lamps
with holy oil. And he said to the angel who stood
near:

“What meaneth this my lord?”

And the angel answered: ‘As the Anointed One
filleth the lamps with holy oil, so He filleth His
people with His Holy Spirit, that they may keep
their testimony bright and clear in a world of dark-
ness.”’

Then the Anginted One turned and looked at
David, till he felt those eyes piercing down into his
heart and seeing there all the rebellion, and hatred,
and unbelief which of late had lurked there; then
the eyes of the Holy One grew tender, and sad, and
loving, till David fell at His feet and cried:

“Now let sorrows increase; let friends forsake
me: and let joy pass me by; yet will I trust Thee,
my Lord and my Redeemer. ‘For Thy Name’s sake,
O Lore pardon my iniquity.’”’

And with that eager cry he awoke, but the re-
membrance of the dream lingered with him.

220 CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XI.

TTITH returning health, the minister realized
W ‘le hitter truth that soon the world would
have to know that his wife had deserted
him. Strangely enough, with his illness all anger
and bitter resentment against Trema had passed
away. Was this not the very result that he had
long ago foreseen? Like a little captive bird which
would appear contented in its captivity, yet having
once gained the freedom of the forest, nothing could
induce it to return; so trema had been contented in
Riverside till a broader view of the world was given
her. He blamed himself for being so foolish as to
think that one of Trema’s position and accomplish-
ments would be satisfied to be the wife of a country
minister.

But alas for David McGlashan! This reasoning
did not make his sorrow less heavy to bear. He
knew the world would blame his wife when they
came to know the truth, and he could not stand the
thought that they would blame her. How was he
to let the people know that she would never return?
Hecould not let them know—not yet. But his secret
weighed upon him, He was not so pleasant and
genial with the people whom he knew best. They
noticed the change in him, but attributed it to his

ized

yuld

‘ted

ger
ssed
had
hich
ing
yuld
din
iven
5-to
lish-
ntry

Ahlg

He
they
| the
s he
arn?
2cret
and
Phey

o his

CROWNED AT ELIM. 22

illness. He went out very little; shut himself up
with his books, and was in a fair way of becoming a
recluse, when an unforeseen event caused him to for-
get his own trouble in those of others. Cholera
visited the village. A family of emigrants from a
cholera infected vessel found their way from Montreal
to Riverside. One of the family died shortly after
their arrival, ‘from a disease resembling cholera,”
the people said. Then old Mrs. Wiggins died sud-
denly after a few hours’ illness. When Dr. Blair
diagnosed his first case, he sent Hilda to friends in
Oxford County, and then went in haste to David
McGlashan.

“You will have to take a holiday, Mr. McGla-
shan,.”’ he said. ‘‘l am afraid we are in fora siege of
cholera; and in your weak state of health it would
be madness for you to stay here. And you will have
to tell Mrs. McGlashan to remain for the present in
St. Petersburg.”

At the doctor's last words a weight passed from
the minister’s heart. Evidently his friend did not
even suspect that all was not well between him and
Trema. And then he would not be under the neces-
sity of telling him—not just now, and then, perhaps
what the doctor said was true—in his weak state of
health he might take the cholera, and—he would
never have to tell. There is no one to mourn me
should I not come through this safely, he thought
half sadly. Then to the doctor, he said:

‘My friend, I would rather remain.”

“T cannot hear of it.”

“If I went, who would take my place and con-
sole the last moments of the dying?”

222 CROWNED AT ELIM.

‘*No one, I fear.’

‘Then I shall stay; mv duty is here.”’

“Tf vou are determined to remain I should advise
that you settle vour temporal affairs, and send fare-
well messages to your friends; for if you persist in
going among the cholera stricken, you are a doomed
man,”’

‘‘Doctor, it is useless to say any more; I am
ready for the worst.”

By Sunday there were ten deaths, and more
cases reported; but there was service at the kirk as
usual. As the days passed the heat grew more in-
tense; the flowers drooped in the glaring sun, and
the grass was parched as with fire. In afew days
the death rate had increased alarmingly. Business
was suspended. The people shut themselves within
doors as much as possible, and there was nothing to
break the awful silence which reigned in the streets,
but the tolling of the church bell.

In two weeks the villager. had become panic
stricken and refused to nurse the sick, outside of
their own households; so the doctor and minister
nursed the patients themselves. One person Guly
caine to their assistance, and that was Leyden Bell.

‘This is a serious business, Leyden,’’ the minis-
ter said, ‘“‘and vou have been doing so much good
among the young men recently that I do not care te
allow you to risk your young life in this way.”’

“Oh, Mr. McGlashan, is my life or my work for a
moment to be compared to yours? Where you go I
shall gladly follow.”

“AL right, my boy. Now listen: the doctox can-
not prescribe for all the patients; he is too busy, and

CROWNED AT ELIM. 223

I know nothing of medicine; but I have already had
a little success with my treatment, I make parched

dvise corn iuto coffee to stop the vomiting, and use burnt
lare- brandy and loaf sugar for the purging. This simple
st in remedy has helped not a few. Have you heard of
omed any fresh cases?”
‘John Bailey, the butcher, died at noon.”
[ am ‘Is it possible? I saw him this morning serving
customers at nine o’clock.”’
more ‘Yes; he said to Mrs. Chisholm that he thought
rk = of leaving town fora time; that he was not feeling
re m- well; and at twelve o’clock he was dead.”
and “Oh, Leyden, this is dreadful! But we will do
days what we can.”
‘ines There was no thought of service at the kirk now.
ithin The minister was constantly with the sick, and the
ng to people would not go abroad for fear of contagion,
reets, As David McGlashan went forth each morning, he
: cast a half wistful look over each dear and familiar

geez spot; for he knew not but that his eyes would be
de of closed in death before night. So the grey stone
mister Manse, the shaded lawn—the one xreen spot in the
Guly parched up country—and the winding river were en-
: Bell. veloped with a tender, ideal beauty. As he saw the
MIs sun rise each morning, he was repeating Lanier’s
good experience when he wrote:
FE tO “T must pass from thy face, I must pass from

: the face of the sun,

fora

... till yonder beside thee

1g0 I My soul shall float, friend Sun,
The day being done.”

. Can-

He never seemed to think it possible that he e
*, and

could escape the dread disease: yet death had no

|
|

<

Covoree

224 CROWNED AT ELIM.

terrors orhim. He was as one wearied with a long
day's work, and looking forward to rest at eventide.

Leyden worked faithfully, never sparing himself
a moment. He was everywhere where a helping
hand was needed.

‘You are working too hard, Leyden; you had
better go home and take a rest,’’ said David Mce-
Glashan one day, as he saw the young man’s white
face. Leyden tried toreply, but all strength suddenly
left him and he fell unconscious to the floor. They
carried him home and he lay unconscious for hours :
then he opened his eyes and smiled when he saw his
friend sitting by him.

‘Leyden, dear boy, you must get better,” said
the minister. ‘I cannot spare you.”

‘Had I died a drunkard, you might have grieved,
Mr. McGlashan; but now, through your efforts, all
is different. Iwasa brand plucked from the burning.
The Saviour has been merciful.”

“Yes, [have never ceased to thank Him for lead-
ing you out of that dangerous path. But I have
learned to look to you as my right hand. I cannot
part with you now.”

‘Some one will fill my place, and accomplish
more than I have been able to.”’

At sundown he passed away. The villagers
heard of his death with sorrow, and in the chamber
where he lay, his friends gathered, the terror of the
plague overcome by the longing to get a last look a
his loved face. All who came owed something to his
earnest work. But for his influence in the hour of
temptation what would they be now ?—they shud-
dered to think.

ao

long

itide.
mself
Iping

had

Me-
vhite
denly
They
ours ;
w his

said

eved,
ts, all

ning.

lead-
have
innot

iplish

agers
mber
yf the
ok at
-o his

ur of

shud-

CROWNED AT ELINM. 208

At midnight, rain began to fall: a refreshing
breeze sprang up, and hope came to the sick and the
weary watchers. Two weeks later a notice was
nailed to the post office door, and the glad intelli-
gence which it contained was passed eagerly from
lip to lip. The notice read:

‘We are thankful to inform the public that the
town of Riverside is now almost free from the plague
A service of Thanksgiving for the st: iving of this
dread disease will be held at the kirk tomorrow,
Wednesday, morning at eleven o'clock.”

At the appointed hour the people were in their
places. A hush fell on the congregation as the min.
ister entered the pulpit. Pale and thin with much
watching, he seemed more a spirit than a man. He
looked for a moment at the people clad in mourning,
and then at the places made vacant by death, and
a look of unutterable sadness crossed his face. He
raised his hands, alabaster-like in their transparency,
and the people bowed in prayer. At his words of
intercession, peace entered the hearts of the bereaved
ones. They lifted their tear-stained faces and looked
off across the river on the hillside, where the m: any
fresh mounds told ail too plz unly of the havoe which
the plague had caused. And they were able to say
for the first time, “‘ The Lord gave and the Lord hath
taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

226 CROWNED AT ELIM

CHAPTER XXII.

ADAME ZAMOYSKI and Trema had started
M on a t»\. through Europe, just as she had told
David McGlashan that they intended doing.
She was anxious to leave St. Petersburg for two
reasons. First,she was afraid that notwithstanding
what she had said, David might come for his wife;
and secondly, she was worried about Trema’s health.
She was failing rapidly. The family physician had
said she would go into a decline if she did not im-
prove, and Madame Zamoyski hoped that constant
excitement would banish the listless apathy into
which she had fallen. So they left the city not long
after the burial of the Countess. Trema scarcely
inquired where they were going. She was little
in.erested in the trip. She saw the domes of St.
Isaac's and St. Alexander Nevoski disappear without
regret. And there was little to attract her attention
as theysped across miles upon miles of an uninterest-
ing waste. They passed Gatschina with its mosque-
like palace, standing in the midst of a solitary plain;
then on again, past towns with bulb-like cupolas
and ancient churches.
At Wilna, the chief town of Lithuania, Trema for
the first timeevinced an interest in the scenes through
which they were passing. She had heard her father

tarted
d told
doing.
r two
nding
; wife;
ealth.
n had
ot im-
istant
y into
t long
arcely

little
of St.
ithout
ention
terest-
osque-
plain ;
ipolas

na for
rough
father

CROWNED AT ELIM 227

speak of Wilna. It was a name prominent in Polish
history

They remained some time in Warsaw, and Trema
for the first time in weeks began to appear like her-
self. She was never tired of going about the city
watching the people in their smart national cos.
tumes; visiting the different public gardens—the
Saski Ogrod, with its fountains, the Lazienki gar-
dens, with its shady alleys, artificial ponds, ruins,
villas and miniature palaces. One day they drove
down the Krakowskie Przedmiescie, and the Ujaz-
dowska Alija Avenue, past the Carmelite church
where the crown archives of Poland are kept; past
Radziwill Palace to the Saxon garden, past the
church of the Holy Cross, erected in 1682: past the
palace of the Krasinskis to the palace of the Zam-
oyskis—the home of the Zamoyskis no longer. They
alighted, and obtained permission to go through the
palatial building.

‘‘When did papa’s people go to Russia?” Trema
asked, as they passed from one spacious room to
another

‘I don’t remember the year, but I have a letter
which your father wrote to mea couple of days be-
fore our marriage, in which he tells about his father
being taken prisoner. You will find the date in
that.”

‘It must be a very interesting letter. Why did
you never show it to me? I should have liked to see
it very much.”

‘“Because when your father saw it one day he
asked me why I had kept it so long, and I told him
that I would on no account part with it. To which

228 CROWNED AT ELIM

he replied: ‘Well, if vou will keep it, do not show it
to Trema, tor she might resent my mother’s treat-
ment ofme,and there has always been sucha marked
friendship between the two that it would bea pity
to spoil it." But there is now no reason why you
should not see it

When they had admired the beautiful ceilings,
fine walls and mural paintings, Madame Zamoyski
said:

“IT think you will understand now, Trema, why
it was a mistake for you to marry in Canada. Being
a Zamoyski you would undoubtedly have been the
mistress of one of Warsaw’s one hundred and sixty
palaces.’

‘*Mother, had I my choice again I should still
choos. David MeGlashan in preference to any Euro-
pean prince. I still believe him to be one of the
noblest of men. I have been thinking everything
over, and I believe that I was wrong to give way to
my pride. Ishould have left no stone unturned to
find out the truth. For he is still my husband, and
dearer to me than all the world beside. I have
written him another letter. I mailed it when I was
out fora walk this morning. I am confident of an
answer, and David will explain allthis tragic silence.”’

Written another letter! Madame Zamoyskiwas
amazed. She thought that Trema had given up all
hope of a reconciliation. She had thought that her
plans had worked admirably. Now she might any
day be found out.

With these thoughts engrossing her mind, she
could no longer find pleasure in the Zamoyski palace.
After they returned to their hotel she was still rest-

iow it
treat-
arked
a pity
2 you

ilings,

1oyski

, why
Being
on the
sixty

1 still
Euro-
of the
thing
ay to
1ed to
|, and

have
I was
Gf an
anice.’”’
ci was
up all
at her
t any

1, she
alace.
| rest-

CROWNED AT ELIM 229

less. She wanted to get away from Warsaw. How
could a letter find Trema if they were travelling all
the time? She would start at once for Berlin. She
broached the subject to her daughter before retiring,

“Go to Berlin!" exclaimed Trema. “ We have
just been a few days here. Why should we be ina
hurry to continue our tour? I think Warsaw lovely.
I could spend another two months here, at least.
Indeed, I think I could live a year here and not grow
Weary of it.

’

There are so many interesting things
to see,’

‘Well, Trema, I am heartily tired of this place.
Countess Brantzinkis tells me that she and the Count
start for Berlin to-morrow morning, and I think it
would be nice to travel with them.”

“Oh, very well, mother: though I should have
preferred remaining longer in Warsaw. Mother, you
mustn’t forget your promise about that letter. Will
you let me see it now?”

When Madame Zamoyski brought the letter,
Trema opened it tenderly, It seemed like a message
from the dead. It was written in the neat, fine hand
which her father always wrote, and was dated three
years before her birth.

Lonpon, June 19th, 1837.
My dearest Miriam:

After your self-sacrificing promise of this after-
noon, I feel that you should know more of my early
history, and why I, a Zamoyski of Poland, should be
teaching music in London. Often I have been on the
verge of telling you something of myself, but was
restrained by thinking that I was simply your music
teacher, and you would not be interested in anythir

oC
12

230 CROWNED AT ELIM.

Thad to say. How little I dreamed that you had
learned to care for me—an uninteresting stranger.

And now, if I Lave scarcely mentioned my child-
hood’s home, it is because many things in my home
life are not pleasant to recall. My father died when
I was one year old. He had been taken prisoner by
the Pussians, at Poland’s downfall, in 1795. But
at the accession of Paul, he was released and offered
a high military position, which he accepted. My
mother, also, was of the Polish nobility. Her father
had suffered the same fate as mine, and she went
with him to Russia. In 1809, .ny parents were
married, but the seven years’ imprisonment had
told on my father’s health. They lived very happily
for two short vears, then he died. A couple of years
later, my mother married Count Stroganoff, a Rus-
sian. It was not the happy marriage that the first
one was, for Count Stroganoff is a stern, arrogant
man. However, as a child I saw very little of him.
My mother was my world. She seemed to lavish all
her love upon me, and this happy life continued till
my little brother, Ivan Stroganoff, was about four
years old.

It had been her habit to come into the nursery
at bed-time and tell me stories—very often cf events
in Poland; for, though she was only eight years old
when she came to Russia, yet the experiences through
which she had passed were too terrible ever to be
effaced from her memory. And she would give me
the details of that dreadful time in all their awful
vividness, till the crash of battle was in my ears,
and I imagined that I heard the cries of wailing
which rent the air. As the tale progressed, and she

1 had

Yr,
thild-
home
when
pr by
But
fered

My
ather
went
were
had
ppily
years
Rus-
first
gant
him.
sh all
d till
four

rsery
vents
s old
ough
0 be
e me
wul
ears,

iling

i she

CROWNED AT ELIM. 231

would describe how her beautiful home was demol-
ished and the Vistula ran blood, I would clench my
little fists, forgetting that Russia was my birthplace.
This story never lost its interest, and though I
would be almost sickened with the horror of it, yet
I would beg her to tell it to me again and again.
But young as Ivan was at this time, he seemed to
comprehend it all, and one day when she was telling
me the story at my special request, he slapped her on
the mouth and said: “Stop. I ama Russian!” She
was dumbfounded at the insult, as well as at the
revelation. She saw that she was sowing discord
between her two children,

She never toid me stories of Poland again. And
she came less and less to the nursery. I felt this
change keenly, for I had already noticed the atten-
tion that was paid to Ivan. When he was ten years
old he had a tutor (as well as a German and French
master), a wardrobe keeper, two personal attend-
ants, and a valet, while I, who was four years his
senior, had only my tutor.

Though I wondered why Ivan should have so
much, the real reason never occurred to me till one
day we were playing on the lawn and I did some-
thing to displease him, when he stopped in his play,
and pointing to me with his finger, said, “* Pauper!”
Then, seeing how angry I became at the insult, he
said more tauntingly still, “ Behold the pauper!”’ |
was beside myself with rage. I could have trampled
him under my foot, but I did not touch him. I
seemed paralyzed with anger, till even he became
frightened at my expression and started to run
away, calling over his shoulder, ‘‘ Mushik, mushik!"

232 CROWNED AT ELI.

I fing myself on a garden seat in a moment my
anger was gone, and my wounded pride found vent
in tears. It was all too true. I was a pauper. I
was not Count Stroganoff’s son. Ivan was heir to
the estate, to the palace, and was master of one
hi idred and twenty servants. I was not heir to
one rouble, for my father had not been able to re-
trieve his fallen fortunes in the short time which
elapsed between his freedom and his death. No; I
was living on charity. I was no better off than a
common mushik. I spent some hours in the very
depths of despair, until my tutor found me and
inquired the cause of my trouble. It was a relief to
pour out my grief to him. He was kind and sym-
pathetic, and told me not to take Ivan’s taunt too
much to heart; that though I was poor, I was not a
mushik; that the Zamoyskis were as illustrious in
Poland as the Stroganoffs were in Russia; that it
was not my fault if political events had brought ruin
on my house.

‘Do not spend your time in repining,” he said,
“but learn all you can, and some day you may turn
your knowledge to Poland's benefit.”

I think he did not pay much attention to what
he said; he just wanted to make me feel better for
the time. But his words became my guiding star,
From that hour my whole thought was Poland, and
in proportion as I loved the land of my fathers I
hated Russia. In my dreams I saw myself one of
Poland’s liberators, and always there was at my
side Prince Adam Czartoryski, my Polish Prince—
my hero.

For the next two years I studied diligently, and

tmy
vent
Pee
ir to

one
F to
O re-
‘hich
foie @
ana
very
and
ef to
svym-
> too
ot a
us in
at it
ruin

said,
turn

vhat
r for
star,
and
ars I
ne of
my
1ce—

and

CROWNED AT ELIM. 233

at the age of sixteen I was ready to enter the Univer-
sity. I wanted to go to Warsaw. This, at first,
was objected to, but as my mother was anxious that
I should go, permission was at last obtained. My
mother felt my departure very much, for though she
had been less demonstrative in her manner in those
later years, yet she loved me still. I think that the
cause of the change in her manner towards me was
that Count Stroganoff was intensely jealous of me,
and imagined that she cared more for me than Iv: an,
and to preserve harmony in the household she openly
showed me less affection.

I found myself in anew world at Warsaw. The
name of Zamoyski seemed an open sesame to every
honor. I led in all things, and the other students
seemed willing to let me lead. I was home twice to
St. Petersburg for my holidays. The last time I saw
my mother was six weeks before that never-to-he-
forgotten November 30th. She had changed since
the time when she told me stories in the nursery.
She was no longer sunny or pl: iyful, but had become
a reserved and unapproachable woman.

A new interest was added to my life at the Uni-
versity when I found that there were others w ho,
like myself, looked for the deliverance of Poland from
her enemies. We formed a little clique, and when the
moment came we were ready. Of the failure of that
insurrection you know. But Prince de Talleyrand
still wrote encouragingly to Prince Adam Czar-
toryski, our leader, and advised him to go to
London (where he, “Peince Tallevrand, was filling
the position of Ambassador for Louis Phillip) and
plead his country’s cause in person. Prince Adam

234 CROWNED AT ELIM.

and myself came as he advised, and so ended all my
boyish dreams.

[ must have been born under anunfortunate star,
for, having the advantages of noble birth, education,
and distinguished friends, at the age of twenty-five I
have less of this world’s goods than many who have
begun their career as a street sweep. But I mvstnot
enlarge upon my woes.

And now if, after what I have told you, you are
willing to give up home and friends for unfortunate
me, I can only than! God for your devoted love,
little one, and I shall try to over-rule circumstances
and bring a measure of prosperity and joy to our
lives.

YOUR DEVOTED CASIMIR.

They arrived in due time at Berlin, but Madame
Zamovyski did not feel satisfied as she imagined that
she would. She found that Trema had left particular
instructions with the postoffice authorities to have
her mail forwarded to Berlin.

‘‘T need a maid,’’ the Madame was thinking one
morning as she was walking in the Unter den Linden.
‘“‘Tam so sorry that Catherine would not leave St.
Petersburg; she was such a help. I need a trust-
worthy maid who would watch the mails for me.
Trema must not hear from David. Now, if I had
some one in my employ who was not working for
money merely, but trom gratitude of some kind—that
would be the thing. But in a foreign country it is
impossible to engage any one under those conditions.
There is a young girl! Whatcan be the matter with
her? How white she is! And what a distressed

ll my

star,
tion,
five I
have
tnot

u are
inate
love,
ances
Oo our

Jame

that
cular
have

x one
iden.
re St.
rust-
r me.
had
g for
-that
y it is

CROWNED AT ELIM. 235

look there is in her beautiful dark eyes! Evidently
she is not a German.”’

She addressed the girl in German, and when she
did not seem to comprehend, repeated her question
in French. The girl replied in a curious mixture of
French and Italian.

‘‘Madame, I am far from home; without friends,
without money. I am hungry—I am starving. I
was about to take this poison to end my life.”

‘My poor child!”’

At the expression of loving sympathy, the girl
burst into tears. They were the first kind words she
had heard for months.

‘There, there, my child. Do not ery, but tell me
all about it,”” said Madame Zamoyski, seating her-
self by the girl’s side.

Her story in brief was this: Her home was at
Capri. She had never left the Isiand, but as she
grew up she had longed to know what the world
was like beyond her island home. Six months ago
her wish was gratified. She had been engaged as
maid by a German lady—a tourist at Capri. When
the lady was leaving the island she asked Filomena
to go with herto Germany. Filomena was delighted
with the thought of seeing the world. An old dame
went to the hotel Tiberio for her trunk. It is the
custom at Capri for women tocarry burdens on their
heads, as the paths are too steep for mules. When
the old dame had carried the trunk down to the
Granda Marina (Great Beach), and they were wait-
ing for the German lady to arrive, the old woman
had told Filomena’s fortune. She predicted that the
young girl would be sorry for leaving her home, and

236 CROWNED AT ELIM.

that she would come to grief in a foreign land. Then
after vainly attempting to dissuade Filomena from
leaving home, she gave her a little box saying that
the drug which it contained was a cure for all
troubles; that they who took it just fell asleep, and
left no sign. Filomena did not believe any of her
predictions, but as the box was pretty she kept it.

Filomena and her mistress went up through Italy
to Switzerland, and stayed there before going on to
Berlin. It was at Berlin that disaster came. A
domestic in the hotel stole some of the German lady’s
jewels, and contrived to throw the blame on Filo-
mena. She was put in prison, and was only released
some months later, when the domestic found her
conscience troublesome and confessed. As soon as
she was set at liberty she made inquiries about her
mistress, and found that she had gone on to her
home in Hamburg.

Then followed weeks of misery for the poor
young girl. She understood but little German. She
had no letters o1 reference, and no friends. She
sought employment in vain. The time came when
her last pfennig was gone, and she had nothing to
look forward to but starvation. Last night she had
dreamed of Capri; of her home perched high on the
mighty rock, and of the vineclad hills. Once again
she was among the cymbal-playing youths and
maidens who danced and sang on the great flat roof
in the radiant moonlight. Then she awoke, and
Capri was far away. She would never again climb
its precipitous paths, nor with her merry companions
tread in the winepress, nor watch old Vesuvius toss
up his cap of smoke. She was slowly starving. She

Then
from
‘that
r all
, and
f her
it.

Italy
on to
See.
ady’s
Filo-
-ased
1 her
n as
t her
» her

poor

She

She
vhen
ig to
» had
n the
gain
and
roof
and
limb
lions
toss

She

CROWNED AT ELIM. 237

had that morning gone out as usual in quest of
employment, only to meet with disappointment as
before. Utterly hopeless and miserable she had sat
down under the limes in the Unter den Linden. She
had wondered how many days it would take her to
die. She still had the little box; she took it out
and looked at it. It was horrible to die by inches ;
better take the poison and end her s“fering. She
was just about to put the fatal drug to her lips
when Madame Zamoyski addressed her.

“This is my story, Madame,” she concluded.
“You may deliver me up to the authorities if you
choose. My life cannot be any more horrible than it
is at present.”

‘““My dear girl,’’ answered the Madame, taking
possession of the little box, “I have no idea of
delivering you up to the authorities. I believe your
story; it is a most pathetic one, and I am ready to
assist you if you will allow me. I left my maid in
St. Petersburg, and shall be pleased to have you in
her place.”

“Oh, Madame!” exclaimed Filomena, “how
kind you are! I will gladly be your maid, your
faithful slave—anything. How shall I ever be able
to thank you?”

“A willing service is all the return I wish.”

258 CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FTER several weeks sojourn in Berlin, Trema
A began to despond. She thought that it was
about time that she was hearing from David.

But, unfortunately, her letter reached Riverside at
the time of the cholera; the town was quarantined,
the mails neglected, and David McGlashan never re-
ceived the letter. In the meantime, Madame Zamoy-
ski thought it better not to remain too long in one
place till there was no longer the possibility of any
communication between David and Trema. So,
much to Trema’s annoyance, she was carried off to
Switzerland and then to Mentone. Not that she
had any objection to these beautiful places, but she
was afraid David's letter would go astray. Other-
wise, she would have been very happy in these play-
grounds of the world. Switzerland had charmed
her, and Mentone she thought a very good place in
which to dream away one’s life. Indeed, the whole
Riviera, beginning at St. Raphael and ending at
Genoa, was one long, changing, shifting scene of
beauty—a succession of quaint towns, of sapphire
bays, red cliffs, and rocky, lighthouse-crowned islets;
while Mentone, itself, lay half hidden among lemon
and orange trees. In the distance, the cliffs and
fortifications of Ventimiglia gleamed white in the

rema
was
ivid.
le at
ined,
r re-
noy-
one
any

So,
ff to
- she
t she
ther-
dlay-
rmed
ce in
rhole
Y= at

4

e ot

dhire
slets;
mon

and
1 the

CROWNED AT ELIM. 239

sun; while afar off rose the purple hills which hem
in San Remo. If Trema’s days had not been one
long worry, she would have been very happy in
picturesque, dreamy Mentone, with the surf of the
Mediterranean singing the little town eternally to
sleep.

One evening, while admiring the view from the
balcony of the hotel, she saw three persons step
ashore from a yacht. Their striking appearance
attracted her attention. She noticed the eldest
gentleman first; he had such a princely air about
him. As he came up the path he removed his hat,
and the breeze played in his white hair, tossing it
back from a forehead of imperial dignity. As they
approached the hotel, he raised his eves to the
balcony, and their dark brilliancy was in strong
contrast to the snow-white hair. The gen_leman
who walked by his side was quite as distinguished
as his companion, though he was a younger and less
handsome man. Behind them camea magnificently
attired officer.

‘Mother, come here! Who can those gentlemen
be?" she asked, in an excited whisper.

‘The younger gentleman to the right,’”’ said her
mother, coming to her side, “is His Highness, the
Prince of Monaco, whose palace is perched high on
the cliff yonder; and the person in uniform is a staff
officer. The elderly gentleman is a stranger around
here. Why, I do believe,” she added excitedly, ‘‘it is
Prince Adam Czartoryski!”

And Prince Adam it was, indeed. His two com-
panions waited in the garden while he went up to
the balcony alone.

240 CROWNED AT ELIM.

“T have not come in vain,” he said, as he drew
near, ‘ This is, without doubt, \. adame Zamoyski.”’
‘Your Excellency has a good memory. What
a pleasure it is to see you once again, mon Prince.
Allow me to present my daughter, Mrs. McGlashan.”

“Is it possible that this is the little golden-haired
fairy who was such an interesting companion at
Lucerne ?’’ said the Prince, taking Trema’s hand and
looking kindly into the smiling blue eyes. “And
married, too! I assure you that I was more than
surprised to hear it; for it seems to me no time
since Casimir came to me with all the troubles of his
love affair. It makes me feel that I must be getting
very old to address Trema as Madame.”

“Yes, time flies quickly. May I ask what happy
chance brought you to these shores just now, mon
Prince?’’ asked Madame Zamoyski.

“T was visiting with His Highness when I re-
ceived a letter from Prince Mentschakoff, in which he
said that the daughter-in-law and granddaughter of
the late Countess Stroganoff contemplated staying
some weeks at Mentone. Upon making inquiries I
found that you had alr sady arrived, and I lost no
time in coming to see you. I hopel find you both
well. Your daughter is looking rather frail, Does
Mentone not agree with you?” he asked, addressing
Trema.

‘““Mentone is not the cause of my poor health.
I was feeling miserable when I came here. Though
it is getting almost too warm now for comfort. But
they say that it is one of the most delightful places
in the world in winter time.”

‘Yes, it is indeed; but now it is rather warm. I

drew

ski.”’

What
rince,
1an.”’
aired
n at
land
‘And
than
time
of his
tting

appy
mon

I re-
ch he
er of
ving
‘ies I
st no
both
Does
ssing

alth.
ough

But
laces

a |

CROWNED AT ELIMN. 241

I think I shall have to carry you both off to my
chateau at Montfermiel. It will seem like old times
for you to go back there, Madame Zamoyski. |
suppose eyen Trema remembers something of it.”’

‘Indeed I do, mon Prince, It seems to me al-
ways like a fairy world. I shall be very glad to see
the enbtean again,’

‘I hope your present visit will not dispel your
early fancies. Things often appear so different when
one is grown up. Now, I must call my friend. He
will think I am neglecting him."

When Madame Zamoyski and Trema had been
introduced to His Highness, they passed a pleasant
half hour in merry chat; and then followed ; i lively
discussion over the respective merits of Mistocs and
pAMAENS.

“I think you must come up to my palace and
have luncheon on the terrace, —— the Prince of
Monaco, ‘‘and you will not again complain of the
extreme heat of the Sivia

The week which followed was a pleasant one.
Both Trema and her mother were very glad to see
Prince Adam. To Madame Zamoyski he was espe-
cially dear, as he had seemed like a father to herself
and Casimir. He was anxious to hear all about her
husband’s last illness, for he had loved him as a son,
and had been sorely grieved at his death. And it
was a relief to Madame Zamoyski to speak of Casi-
mir. She loved to recall his last words, hic goodness
and patience during all his troubles and his trials.
And then Prince Adam had many things to tell of
Casimir’s student days, and incidents of the siege
of Modlin, all of which were very interesting to the

242 CROWNED AT ELIM.

ladies, as they had never heard them before. Then
the Prince of Monaco was very kind, and made the
days pleasant for them with little trips on his yacht.
The visit to the islets of St. Honorat and Ste. Mar-
guerite had been especially pleasant.

But the days at Mentone came to an end, for
Prince Czartoryski found that it would be necessary
for him to return at once to Montfermiel, and as
Trema and her mother had accepted his invitation
to visit hiram at the chateau, they began at once to
prepare for the journey.

That evening Trema received a much post-marked
letter. She opened it with trembling fingers to find
that it was from Beth Cairns. Beth was going toa
Ladies’ College in Toronto, while Stewart was at
the University, as her mother did not mind her being
away from home when her brother was in the same
city. She liked the school very much. She had been
home at Easter; and there was so much news to tell,
and she intended writing before, but the excitement
of going back to school had quite driven letter writ-
ing from her mind.

“Just think,’ she wrote, ‘‘ Hilda Bain is going to
be married to Dr. Blair to-morrow, April 29th. Isn’t
it strange? Who would have thought it? Do you
remember the yacht race? Charlie and I were the
two unfortunates of the party. Dr. Blair and Hilda
are going to live at Vinemount. But what is the use
of my telling you all this when Mr. McGlashan keeps
you fully posted. I saw him Easter week, and he
was looking very well—a little thin, perhaps, but
then he is always thin. He has been very busy, they
tell me. He and Leyden Bell are doing a wonderful

Then
le the
acht.
Mar-

1, for
ssary
id as
ation
te to

irked
» find
‘toa
is at
ein g
same
been
» tell,
ment
writ-

ig to
Isn’t
y you
> the
lilda
e use
creeps
id he
, but
they
lerful

CROWNED AT ELIM., 243

work among the boys. I haven't time to explain for
there is the bell. The time allotted to us for corres-
pondence is up, so good-bye for this time.
Your affectionate friend,
“Betu Carns,”

When Trema had read the letter she flung herself
on a couch and wept bitterly. It was the first word
she had heard fron. home for months, and she was
so lonely. Then, it was the end of her foolish dreams.
She had imagined that David was ill—that some-
thing dreadful had happened to him, and that every
one was afraid to tell her. But Beth said he was
looking well, and that he was very busy. Her
mother was right; he cared more for his parish than
he did for her. She was no longer anything to him.
There was, besides no nope of getting a letter from
him now, for if Beth’s letter could find her, there was
no excuse for not getting one from him. It was
quite clear that he no longer cared for her: he was
evidently quite contented to have her in Europe.

She sat for hours by the window in deep dejec-
tion; her face pale and wan; her eyes fixed on the
distant mountains, though she saw them not, for
instead of huge tors of red porphyry rising sheer into
the air from bases of Mediterranean pine wood, she
saw the little town by the river, the Manse on the
hill-top, and one who was dearer than all others—
her absent husband. She thought of that never-to-
be-forgotten New Year’s Eve, which Beth had re-
called, and of the happiness which had shone in his
eyes when their two yachts had anchored together
among the lotus leaves. She thought of the night

244 CROWNED AT ELIM.

of her birthday party, wheu he had asked her to be
his wife. How happy they were. It was a peep
into Paradise. Was there no love and no constancy
in the world? She thought till her head ached, and
then she threw herself on her bed, but only to toss
and moan the long night hors through.

She started on the journey in the morning with
a headache; and neither her mother nor the Prince
knew how she suffered on that trip. When they
arrived at Meaux, Prince Czartoryski was anxious
that they should see all the interesting things to be
seen in that ancient town, and conducted them here
and there, till Trema was oblived at last to plead
weariness, and they went on .. Montfermiel. It
was late at night when they reached their destina-
tion, and Trema retired at once to her room.

The following morning, Filomena went to her
mistress saying that Mrs. McGlashan was talking
strangely, and would not say whether she would
have her accustomed cup of coffee. Madame Za-
moyski found her in a raging fever, and went in
haste to the Prince, who at once sent a servant for
his physician.

It was a bad case of brain feyer, the doctor said.
For days Trema lay in a state of semi-consciousness
with but one thought, terribly real—that she was
sinking in a waste of waters; the waves were clos-
ing over her, and she could hear nothing but the
noise of their surging in her ears. How tired she
was with the continual buffeting. Then, at last, she
seemed to rest on a shining wavelet of the sea. dow
nixe it was to rest after those weary days and nights.
She hoped the sea would stay calm; she would like

CROWNED AT ELIM.

to glide on like that forever. But suddenly she
imagined that a voice sounded over the waves like
a bell, and she started up, Saying anxiously :

“IT must go; David is calling me.”

All through the night she kept repeating the
words. And she would look up into the faces of
the watchers and say pathetically:

‘‘ Why do you not let me go? Do you not hear
him calling me?”

246 CROWNED AT ELIM,

CHAPTER XXIV.

NE day Prince Czartoryski came from consult-

O ing the physician \.ith a grave face, for he

had said that he could do nothing more

till the mental trouble which was weighing on the

invalid’s mind was removed. The Prince sought
Madame Zamoyski, and began eagerly:

‘We must send for Mr. McGlashan. Trema
wants him. His name is constantly on her lips. We
must send for him at once, though I fear _

“And undo all my work!” Madame Zamoyski
broke in imperiously. And then, for the space of a
minute, there fell a silence so profound that she could
almost hear the beating of her heart; for at her
words the light of a revelation had broken all over
the grave, stern face of the Prince. The dark eyes,
that had always looked at her so kindly, now pierced
her very soul, and she quailed before their angry
brilliance. What had she done? The secret which
she would have guarded with her life was out; those
hasty words were her undoing. She would have
given almost anything to have recalled them.

‘So that is it,’’ he said at last. ‘You have been
trying to separate your daughter and her husband.
That is the weight that has almost crushed out
poor Trema’s life. But what made you? What

a

CROWNED AT ELIM. 247

possessed you to treat your child in such an inhu-
man manner ?”’

“She had married out of her station,’ was the
defiant answer. ‘She was destined for higher things
than to be the wife of a country parson in the back-
woods of Canada.”

“But her destiny was no longer in your keeping.
The irrevocable step was taken when she married,
Her place thereafter was by her husband’s side,
whether he was a prince or peasant. And, more-
over, from what I have learned of David McGlashan
I believe him to be a noble man, the peer of any
woman, no matter what her station.”

“Your opinion, no doubt, has been formed from
my daughter’s romantic ideas,” she answered, with
curled lip. ‘ But you should not base an Opinion on
the authority only of a young girl of nineteen.”’

“Pardon me, Madame Zamoyski, but if I re-
member rightly, you were less than Trema’s age
when you took your fate into your own hands and
married Casimir Zamoyski. 1 wil’ not say whether
you did right or wrong, but surely under those cir-
cumstances you would allow your daughter liberty
to place her affections where she chose. But the fact
remains, she is married; and neither you, nor I, nor
anyone has the right to attempt to estrange two
faithful hearts.”’

“Tt cannot be so dreadfully wrong. Princess
Mentschakoff suggested the idea, and there is not an
aristocrat in St. Petersburg who would not abet me
in what I have done.”

“Oh, Miriam, Miriam, what has changed you?
You gave the promise of noble womanhood, I

248 CROWNED AT ELIM.

remember you as I saw you twenty-two years ago—
winsome, loving, not caring for aught in all this
world but your husband’s love. When I saw you
two years later you were working, slaving, denying
yourself of the very necessities of life for your invalid
husband. Then you undertook a journey on an
errand which would have paralyzed some women
with fear. Surely those were traits of anoble nature.
What changed you that you could do such a wrong?
Let me tell you—it was your pride. On our first
acquaintance I detected the flaw of obstinate, arro-
gant pride in an otherwise fair character. In your
trouble in Paris I encreated you to go to vour father,
for I had learned enough to know that he was long-
ing for your return. But he, like you, was proud,
and he would not ask you back unless you went to
him. I need not recall your answer. He is dead.
You did not know?” Miriam had lifted her face, as
pale as marble.

“You knew and never told me!”’ she exclaimed.

“Pardon me; but I had no cause to know that
you were interested. He left the bulk of his property
to public institutions, seeing that for twenty years
you had never troubled yourself to find out whether
he had forgiven you or not. His solicitor told me
that he waited till the last before making his will,
hoping against hope that you would some day
return,”’

‘*How could I know that he wanted me?” she
answered, angrily. Her pride had _ over-reached
itself; all of her father’s wealth might have been hers.

‘Your pride has been the bane of your life,’’ con-
tinued the Prince. ‘It has been the incentive to one

CROWNED AT ELIM., 249

of the most cruel acts that a mother could inflict on
her child. Was Mr. McGlashan unkind to his wife
that you wished to Separate them? Was your
daughter unhappy in the sphere she had chosen?
No; but your pride must be appeased. Trema must
shine as a star on the society of St. Petersburg.
Such heartlessness!”

“T never meant

” she began, almost inaudibly,
‘No, of course you never meant anything so very
dreadful at that first brilliant gathering inSt. Peters-
burg, when you saw how well suited Trema was to
such society. Then Princess Mentschakoff suggested
an idea to you, and your thoughts took definite
form. You lay awake at night thinking over the
details of your plan; it was never absent from you
in waking hours; it came to be the center of all your
thoughts and actions. Your judgment became
warped, and your conscience——”’

“Spare me!” she cried, throwing out her hands
towards him. “Do not go over the awful stages
that have brought me to this hour. How you know
it all I cannot divine; but if I have sinned, this hour
of humiliation surely atones for it all.”

Even in his anger, ker humbled pride touched
him. When he spoke it was in a gentler tone. “ My
daughter,”’ he said, “if I have guessed at the truth it
is because I am speaking out of a long experience,
Sin seldom confronts us full-grown; it creeps insid-
iously into our hearts. Had that first thought pre-
sented itself to you in its full proportions with all its
disastrous consequences, had you recognized it asa
suggestion from Satan, you would have shrunk from
itin dismay. But you nursed the viper in your heart

250 CROWNED AT ELIM.

till it had mastered all your thoughts. It has not
made the sin greater to have it discovered; it has,
indeed, lessened it. For all may yet result happily,
if you will only go to Trema and Mr. McGiashan
and tell them the whole « tory.”’

At the mere suggestion Madame Zamoyski’s
pride surged up again. “I certainly cannot, and will
not, do any such thing; not even to restore my
daughter’s health. Her death is to be preferred to
her knowing what I have done, or to her living the
life of an exile in that wilderness of the frozen North.
As for David McGlashan, I'll risk his heart breaking.
He is too intent on his parishioners, and his sermons
on original sin, to miss his young wife.”

‘*“Madame Zamoyski!"’ the Prince exclaimed
with angry vehemence. ‘‘Do you think for one
moment that I shall condone your cruelty? Just as
soon as Trema is able to bear it, I shall tell her all I

know of this business, and I shall tell her at once

’

that David is coming. It may help her.’
‘‘For Casimir’s sake, will you not have mercy?”
‘‘Casimir’s daughter is to be considered as well
as his wife. For such heartlessness as you have
shown I shall have no mercy.”

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XXV.

to recovery. But what joy was it to Madame

Zamoyski that her child's life had been spared,
since she would always look upon her mother with
deadliest hate and scorn. Prince Adam would not
delay the recital of that dreadful story even one day.
Te aight, Trema would know all.

The night was beautiful as Madame Zamoyski
knelt alone by the open window. The warm air
came to her freighted with the perfume of countless
roses. Out on the lawn the stotely old trees seemed
brooding in the soft moonlight. Even the turbulent
Marne was quiet that night, and glided serenely
along in its winding journey to join the Seine. It
was a night to dream—to leave the prosaic old world
and float away on the wings of erial fantasy. But
it was not dream-castles, nor future splendor, nor
coming happiness that occupied Madame’s thoughts
as she knelt in the moonlight with her face lifted to
the stars.

Presently she threw out her hands with an im-
ploring gesture. ‘Oh, Casimir, do you know up
there in Heaven how I am suffering? Did you ever
come, I wonder, to a place where you seemed to be
hedged in by events of your own making? And you

. | YREMA was out of danger; fully on the road

eat cap ee —eneeraen

252 CROWNED AT ELIM.

were so interested in the present that you forgot to
look beyond the hedge, till, by a touch from the
wand of an avenging Nemesis, the wall dropped out
of sight, and you were standing in the midst of the
desolation you had made? Such a time has come to
me, my beloved, and in the wilderness of my life there
are but two paths left for me. One is long, and cold,
and dreary, even though it is lighted by your love.
For I see you up yonder with a coronet of stars in
your hand, like that majestic figure whom St. John
saw in his vision, and those stars are lighting the
path of duty for me; but I cannot, cannot walk in
it. Ieannot live on, and face a scornful world, and
an accusing conscience. I could brave a father’s
wrath, and face poverty, and stand before the Czar
of all the Russias for you, my Casimir; but I cannct
live on now.

‘And the other path? Oh, it is dreadful! Did
the flowers ever smell so sweet, or did the moon ever
shed such a radiant light as it does to-night? Ye
are so wondrously beautiful, earth, and sky and
stars; and there are long years of usefulness before a
woman who is only thirty-eight. Little white pow-
der, shall I scatter you out of the window? And
then the sun will rise as of old, and the birds will
sing in the lovely spring time, and we shall all be
happy. No, no; there can be no to-morrow for me!
My child is better. Prince Adam is telling her to-
night. To-morrow she will despise me. David
McGlashan will come to know all the ruin I tried to
bring upon him, and I shall be an outcast from those
IT hold dearest. But when to-morrow comes, perhaps
when they see me here, they will think less bitterly of

CROWNED AT ELIM. 253

me; and in the quiet hush their tones will grow
tender when they speak of me. And when years
have passed they will forget the wickedness, and
remember only the good.”’

In the early morning hours Prince Adam was
aroused by Filomena. She was weeping bitterly,
making her broken French almost unintellible, but
he managed to gather that there was something
wrong with her mistress, and following the maid, he
found Madame Zamoyski kneeling by the window
evidently in a dreamless sleep.

‘Miriam, Miriam!” he called, and then drew
back with a sudden fear, for her brow was cold with
the chill of death. He stood for a moment horror-
stricken. Could it be possible that she was dead ?—
she who last evening had bade him farewell in all the
pride of life.

Filomena had flung herself by the still kneeling
figure of her mistress, and was kissing the lifeless
hands passionately. Prince Czartoryski was sur-
prised at the young girl’s excessive grief. He drew
her away from the window, and, placing her on a
sofa, questioned her kindly regarding her mistress.
And she teld him, in her pretty, foreign way, that on
going the previous night to assist her mistress to
disrobe, she had found her kneeling there in the
moonlight, and not wishing to disturb her, had sat
down in the anteroom, expecting to be called any
moment. Being very tired she had fallen asleep, and
only wakened when the sun shone in the window.
And on going to her mistress she had found her cold
in death.

254 CROWNED AT ELIM.

‘But the box!’ she cried, with a fresh burst of
tears, pointing with a trembling finger to a tiny
ivory box which lay on the window seat.

“What about the box ?” asked the Prince, taki g
up the casket.

‘Oh, your Highness, I am so wretched. Madame
Zamoyski got that box from me, and it may have
tempted her.”

“I do not understand,” said the Prince in per-
plexity. ‘Did the box contain anything?”

‘Yes, your Excellency,’ she answered, as her
head drooped low in abject mis: ry. And then, no
longer able to keep her secret, she told him of how
she came to be in Germany; of her troubles in Berlin,
and of Madame Zamoyski finding her in the walk of
the Unter den Linden.

“And now," she said, as the tears welled up
afresh in the dark eyes, ‘‘she who saved me from a
horrible fate, is dead herself from that fatal drug.
What shall I do now that she is gone?”

Prince Adam let her weep awhile, and then said,
kindly:

‘IT see that you loved your mistress. Do you
love her daughter, too?”

“Yes, yes; I love them both—the Ingliss ladies.”’

“You know Madame McGlashan has been very
ill?”

Yes,” lifting her eyes, questic. ‘ngly,

“And it would be very serious, might even prove
fatal if she knew that her mother came to her d ath
by her own hand?”

Milomena bowed a silent assent
‘Well, see; I will take this box and lock it away,

t of

‘iny

ing
ume
ave

per-

her
no
ow
lin,
c of

up
na

CROWNED AT ELIM 255

and when the doctor comes and others who will ask
you many questions, you may tell them of falling
asleep in the ante-chamber, and of finding her here
by the window in the morning; but not a word more
of what you have told me. Do you promise?”

“Yes, your Highness, { promise.”

“And now for the affection which you bore your
mistress, I shall send you home to Capri. I happen
to know a family who are going there for a few
months, and I shall make arrangements for you to
go with them. Now, we will break this sad news
to the others of my household. Come.”

And Trema never knew. Heart failure was given
as the cause of death, and she accepted the state-
ment unquestioningly. The Prince had told Trema
of her mother’s death at a time when she was nurs-
ing ven zeful thoughts against her; for she had been
most bitterly angry. But when the message came,
her anger changed to sorrow out of which all bitter-
ness was sifted. Though Trema grieved deeply for
her mother, yet the Prince's disclosure had lifted from
her heart the heavy load which she had borne for
months, and she rapidly gained in strength. Soon
she was able to take a daily walk to her mother’s
grave in the little graveyard at Montfermiel, and
before many weeks had elapsed, they were counting
the days till they would sail for America; for Prince
Adam was going to accompany her, though he said,
laughingly, that he wouid prove but a feeble escort,
as he was now in his seventy-eighth year.

They spent a few days in Paris before taking ship
tor Canada, and to Trema’s unspeakable astonish-

256 CROWNED AT ELIM.

ment, she one day met Charlie Kinnear on the Avenue
de Opera. In the excess of her joy she scarcely
knew whether to laugh or to cry. She made him go
with her to their hotel, and on the way plied him
with questions. He told her about the cholera, and
congratulated her on being out of town during the
awful time. When he told her how Mr. McGlashan
had worked among the sick and dying, she turned so
pale that he thought she was going to faint, and to
change the subject he said that he and Beth were to
be married the coming winter. Trema was delighted
but was not so pleased when she found that they
wou'd live in Toronto, She comforted herself with
the thought that she would sometimes go to the city
and visit Beth and Charlie in their new home. Two
days later the Prince and Trema bade Charlie fare-
well, and set sail for Canada.

CROWNED AT ELIM. 257

CHAPTER XXVI.

AVID McGLASHAN sat by his study table ob-
D viously to prepare his sermon for the coming
Sabbath morning. He had chosen for his text
Jeremiah viii, 22: “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is
there no physician there?’’ Surely if any one might
preach from those words with acceptance it was he;
for he had been sorely afflicted and had proved the
efficacy of that balm which is mercifully provided of
God for our healing. On that April day when he had
been so grievously wounded, he had refused to have
that sacred balm applied for his annointing. But
later, in those days of renewed consecration, he had
taken the keys of all the rooms of his soul to his
Physician, and laying them at his feet had said:
‘‘Dear Master, come and choose where Thou wilt
lodge, or what Thou wilt have, for all I have is
Thine.”” But now, when he thought that he was
living so near to his Physician that nothing could
again harm him, he felt all the old bitterness and
rebellion returning. Why should all loss and pain
and suffering be his portion while others had so little
to try them ? he asked bitterly.
So he was not composing his sermon, and he was
not writing any of the things that he had intended
to write; he was listening, instead, for a light foot-

258 CROWNED AT ELIM.

step on the gravel. Even though he knew that it
would never come again, yet he liked to think how
she would run up the walk; how the door would
open, and how she would spring towards him with
her merry laugh as of old. Or if she were in the
mood she would shove all his books and papers
away, with the imperious manner of a young prin-
cess, and beg him to listen to what she had to tell
him. Perhaps she would slip in softly, as she used
to leve to do, and covering his eyes with her little,
cool fingers. keep them there till he guessed who was
his prisoner. As if it were hard to guess!

To-night she seemed so near he fancied if he put
out his hand he could touch her dress, or if he turned
his head he would find her standing there. But he
would not turn his head, fer then the hallucination
would vanish, end he would feel that cold grip of
despair which always settled on his heart when he
returned from those moments in dreamland to the
bitter reality of it all. He thought it was becoming
a mania with him to be always listening for Trema’s
return, and he tried for the hundredth time to break
the spell which was upon him.

Suddenly he stopped in his musing, and lifted his
head to listen. There was a noise outside. A car-
riage was stopping by the veranda, though, doubt-
less, it was one of his congregation. He heard the
front door open, and Jeanie give a little cry of delight,
but he did not stir. Not even when the library door
was thrown open, and two soft arms were clasped
about his neck. But when he was almost smothered
with her kisses and she was calling him ‘y every
endearing name she had used in the old days, he

CROWNED AT ELIM. 259

knew it was no dream; yet he did not stir or cry
out. He only sat still and held her in his arms as if
he would never let her go. He was glad with a joy
too great for speech—he had not the words to ask
for explanations. What mattered her long absence?
What mattered the lonely hours now that she was
there? And so he held her close, saying no word at
all. But at last he put her from him and looked at
her, and then he knew that she, too, had suffered.
Beautiful ste still was; beautiful she would always
be; but days of illness and suffering had left their
trace, and her {rai} loveliness was emphasized by the
deep mourning in which she was ciad. It seemed as
if he could never feast his eyes enough upon that
loved face. Then, as if recalling something which he
had forgotten, he said:

“Trema, where is your mother? You did not
come alone?”

“Oh, David,” she answered, with quivering lip,
“do you not know? Did you not receive Prince
Adam's letter telling of dear mamma's death? He
‘ame with me.”

‘Madame Zamoyski dead! Is it possible?”

“T know how impossible her death must seem to
you, for she was always in the best of health, and no
one ever suspected that she was troubled with her
hcart; yet it was so, and the end came very sud-
denly. But Prince Adam says I should not fret
about her death, for she died without any pain; it
was just like falling asleep. And then she was never
really happy since papa died. 1 remember that she
often said she wished that she was at rest, too.
But,’—and Trema lifted her head in surprise—‘ if

on

aw

260 CROWNED AT ELIM.

you did not know of mamma’s death, then neither
did you know of the other matter—of the reason

”

why I

She got no further. The thought of his generous
love in taking her back without a word of explana-
tion overwhelmed her. It seemed that till that
moment she had not caught even a glimpse - 18
princely heart, or conceived the depth of his won-
derful love. And then the recollection of all that she
had suffered since she had parted from him overcame
her, and laying her head on his shoulder, she wept as
‘f her heart would break. And he, knowing that
tears were good for her, let her weep on. Severai
times she attempted to tell him of the plot which
had nearly ruined both their lives, but it was so
hard to tell all; it would make him feel bitterly
towards her mother, who was sleeping far away in
the little churchyard at Montfermiel. Yet all must
be told, and that, too, before she introduced Prince
Adam, who was waiting in the drawing-room. So

she gathered courage to tell him, and as he listened

to the recital a passionate intensity of perfect relief,
of tender, grateful peace, stole into his heart and
smoothed out the lines upon his brow. What he
thought of Madame 7Zamovski he did not say, tor
joybells of thankfulness were ringing too ecstatically
in his heart to permit of bitter thoughts.

When the story was finished, Trema took ker
husband to the drawing-room to meet Prince Czar-
toryski. And when the introduction was over, and
David McGlashan had given his guest a cordial
greeting, then, indeed, tongues were loosed and

speech flowed freely.

CROWNED AT ELIM. 261

Meanwhile, in the dining-room, Mrs. Lindsay
was selecting the finest table-linen, and taking the
best silver from its many wrappings, for were they
not to entertain a real, live Prince? And Jeanie, in
the kitchen, was capering around in delight, at the
imminent risk of spoiling the oysters which she was
preparing; for those had been sad months when the
young mistress was away.

It was the next evening at sunset that David
McGlashan and his young wife were standing on the
balcony overlooking the river. She had been very
busy that day. With girlish eagerness she wanted
to see everything; and much had taken place in those
months of absence. She had examined all the im-
provements, and even David was satisfied at her
delight in all that he had done. She was delighted
to have Hilda for a neighber. She had been over
Vinemount and praised it all till the young bride
blushed with pleasure. She had listened with sym-
pathetic attention to her husband’s vivid description
of those awful days of cholera, and was so grieved
at all the poor villagers had suffered, that her hus-
band saw most plainly that her heart was indeed in
the little town.

“T believe you are really glad to get back,’’ he
said, smiling, “and that you did sometimes think of
us all at Riverside.”’

“It would quite spoil you, sir, to know how
many precious hours I wasted thinking of you,”’ she
replied, playfully. Her husband smiled, too, and
then his face became suddenly grave. It was so un-
utterably pathetic to see her trying to cover all her

262 CROWNED AT ELIM

suffering in that light way. For he had learned that
morning from Prince Adam how very ill she had
been; how she had been broug)t back to him from
the brink of the river of death. The Prince had told
him, too, of those hours of delirium in which she had
-alled incessantly for him.

Trema looked up at the grave face bent above
her. She saw the tender soliciiude written there,
and her face became sweetly serious as she contir ued:

“Indeed, you do not | now, you cannot guess,
how I longed to be home again. Right amid the gay
scenes of St. Petersburg, and the beauties of Ger-
many and of Switzerland, which mamma was so
anxious that I should see, I longed for you and
Riverside. I might as well have been journeying
through a wilderness, for my heart was not there.
I thought of the Children of Israel, and Riverside
seemed to me like Elim. When I was so ill and so
weary, those beautiful lines written by Mrs. Judson
on the encampment of the Israelites at Elim, re-
peated themselves in my memory with a persistency
that made my poor brain weary:

‘With eager haste, the fainting pilgrims rush,

Where Elim's cool and sacred waters gush;
Prone on the bank, where murmuring fountains flow,
Their wearied, fainting, listless forms they throw.’
And so it seemed to me that I would never feel rested
till I was back at Riverside.

“In my dreams I could see it all—the river rip-
pling in a low murmur over the pebbles between the
great high rocks; the green fields, dotted with daisies
and buttereups, and the Manse up here on the
height. Icould feel the silent freshness of the May

l
1
l

CROWNED. AT ELIM. 263

mornings, when the orioles sing in the orchards, and
the violets are first lifting their shy heads to the sun.
[ could feel again the ineffable stillness of the nights
in June, when the roses nod sleepily to one another:
and a scent of lilacs is in the soft, warm air. You
see how very tired I must have been of the glitter
of courts and the pomp of social life. Though I did
sympathize with uear papa, when I saw the grand
old Zamoyski palace in Warsaw, and I could well
understand how he wished to be reinstated in the
old home. It was his ambition that I should wear
the coronet of some Polish house; but all the court
I care for is my home, and you have crowned me
with your love.”

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